Hiding In Stark Tower
by BlueRoseRabbit
Summary: After Reichenbach, Mycroft sends Sherlock to Irene Adler (Mary-Kate Morstan) in America to lay low until Mycroft fixes things. Mary-Kate Morstan lives with Tony Stark and friends, though, so Sherlock must now get along with people, make friends(?), and not blow his disguise as Hamish Turner until he can reunite with John. Sequal to Brainy Is The New Sexy but can be read alone.
1. Dinner And Girl Time

_Can be read as a companion to Brainy Is The New Sexy. Sherlock, however, will feature in this fic. He'll probably be introduced next chapter, don't worry._

_And poor Natasha. She's got a bit of trouble ahead of her with all this secret identities nonsense._

* * *

Dinner, Tony thought, had gone splendidly well.

Mary-Kate Morstan, his new girlfriend (and maybe soon-to-be fiancée, he hadn't had the courage to ask her yet), had been a delight amongst the Avengers. She had laughed at Clint's jokes, charmed polite little Steve, kept up a bit with Bruce's medical talk (she knew a bit about drugs, sedatives, and hallucinogenics, apparently), and had gotten along alright with Natasha. They had been a little cold to each other, but Natasha had given Mary-Kate the address of a little cafe and told her to meet her there at noon the next day for "girl talk", so maybe they could be friends?

When Tony had finished showing Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Bruce out the door, Mary-Kate came over and sat on his lap on the couch playfully.

"So, now that I know your new friends, isn't it about time you got your little boy band back together and invited them all to your tower?" Mary-Kate asked, pecking him on the lips.

"Hmm?"

"I know that you've been dying to invite Bruce back over this week for more lab time on the R&D floors, and it would save you time if instead of inviting him over and having him take cabs from his dinky little flat to the tower, if he was just on that special 'Big Green Man' floor you've been building him? Oh, don't think I don't know that you've wanted to make this Avenger's Tower instead of Stark Tower. I knew there was a reason you hadn't replaced the letters on the big sign." Mary-Kate smiled at him.

To cover up his surprise, Tony decided to make fun of her British-ness. "In America they're called apartments, not flats."

"To-may-to, to-mah-to," she remarked.

"Yeah, you're right, I'll call Capsicle and Brucie-bear about moving in tomorrow while you're having girl time with Nat. Clint and Nat have a perfectly nice apartment right now and I'm not done with their floors yet anyway so they don't need to move in right now." Tony kissed Mary-Kate soundly. "Now, I can think of at least four more important things we could be doing on this couch than talking about the Avengers." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, Anthony, I can think of at least twenty, and we don't even have to do it on the couch."

* * *

Natasha Romanova sat down at the small table in the corner of the cafe elegantly. Her beauty and grace was matched only by the woman sitting opposite her; a gorgeous woman with pretty cheekbones, perfect make up, and originally chestnut colored hair that had been dyed to be a golden brown (Natasha could tell by the roots).

"Well, Miss Irene, I have to say I was quite convinced that you had been killed by those terrorists months ago. Why have you decided to prey after Tony?" Natasha asked Mary-Kate Morstan, birth name Irene Adler, AKA The Woman.

"How did you know it was me? The Holmes boys were quite efficient in their removal of every website, media post, or image that ever contained my face, name, or description that could alert the U.S. government that Mary-Kate Morstan is Irene Adler." The Woman said in that British accent of hers.

"I'm not with the U.S. government. I'd recognize your face anywhere."

"Oh, that's right, you're with S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Why are you interested in Tony Stark?" Natasha repeated coldly.

"Oh, don't worry, I've not fled my old life of misbehaving to suddenly pick it up again with a new name. No, ruining your friend is the last thing I have in mind." The Woman smiled blandly at Natasha and turned to the waitress who had walked over. "I'll have a water."

Natasha bit back her customary response of "I don't have friends," and instead asked, "Do you love him? Is that what it is? Because you and I know full well that attachment can ruin you. Love is for children. And I'll have non-sweetened ice tea," she murmured at the end to the waitress, who have her an odd look and went to get their drinks.

The Woman looked away and bit her lip, almost (but not quite) smearing her blood-red lipstick. "A man once told me that love is a chemical defect found on the losing side, and I know that love is dangerous; sentiment can get you killed, but it can also save you in the end." She suddenly met Natasha's eyes sharply. "I do not believe I am making a mistake this time."

Natasha paused, then nodded slowly. "I believe you. I'll keep your old identity a secret, but so help you if you hurt Tony, _Mary-Kate Morstan_."

Mary-Kate, to her credit, did not flinch. "You will tell Anthony, then, that your background check on me turned out fine? It is fine, by the way. I know he's done background checks on me before, and I've got a believable story. The documents all work out. It's a perfect new identity; like slipping into a new gown."

The waitress brought their drinks. Natasha waited until she had walked out if earshot before speaking again.

"Yes. I have checked it already, as well, and I must say that it was well done." Natasha admitted begrudgingly.

"The Holmes boys were kind enough once the younger had gotten around to telling his older brother that I was not, in fact, dead after all." Mary-Kate smiled.

"Well, technically, Irene Adler _is_ dead. Mary-Kate Morstan, however, is very much alive, wouldn't you say?" Natasha murmured, taking a sip of her tea.

"Indeed," replied Mary-Kate, taking a sip of her own water. "Where do you buy your lipstick, by the way, I'm running out of this particular shade and that color is beautiful."

* * *

A month or two later Sherlock Holmes took a nasty fall onto some pavement.

* * *

_Next chapter will be up soon. (:_


	2. D(r)eadful News

Mary-Kate reclined on the sofa lazily as she watched the British news. Anthony was upstairs with Bruce Banner on the R&D floors and Steve Rogers was out jogging, so she was alone, save for JARVIS.

She wasn't sure how Anthony had done it, but he had programmed JARVIS to give her the British news channels when she asked for it. Mary-Kate nibbled a biscuit (_the American word is "cookie", _she reminded herself) when the story came on that caused her heart to stop for a few moments.

"The suicide of supposed fraud detective Sherlock Holmes occurred yesterday when he jumped from the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital in London, England, after calling his flatmate John Watson as his suicide note. We have yet to get a quote from Dr. Watson, but NSY has issued a statement saying that the phone call was merely Mr. Holmes apologizing to Dr. Watson and telling him goodbye. An investigation is currently going on about the validity of Sherlock Holmes' detective abilities. The body of Richard Brook was found on the rooftop of St. Bartholomew's as well. He had committed suicide by placing the gun he was holding in his mouth and firing. Holmes' phone has been recovered and NSY is currently looking into it for-"

"Turn it off." Mary-Kate said suddenly in a quivering voice. JARVIS obliged and the room was dreadfully quiet.

"Miss Morstan, shall I tell Mr. Stark tha-?"

"No. I need to be alone for a bit." Mary-Kate walked to a small room she used to store her clothes and a few "personal" belongings in (she slept in Tony's room with him) and then suddenly she was Irene Adler and she was _not_ crying because Irene Adler didn't really love Sherlock Holmes; it was just a silly infatuation and she should stop this nonsense immediately.

It didn't make the pain lessen at all.

* * *

_Sherlock will make a REAL appearance next chapter, I swear._


	3. I'm Not Dead

A week after that horrible, horrible news, Thor, Jane Foster, Anthony, Mary-Kate, Natasha, Bruce, Clint, and Steve were all sitting and watching a frankly hilarious movie about and alien named Paul and two nerds who find him*** **when Mary-Kate's phone buzzed; she had received a text. She told Anthony not to bother pausing the movie as she disentangled herself from him to get her phone. She read the text. Her heart skipped a beat.

_I'm not dead. Let's have dinner. -SH_

She had to reread it twice.

_What the hell?! You do know that I am in America, right?! Does JW know?_

Response:

_JW cannot know until the snipers are dead. I am in America, my plane landed an hour ago. I am in a hotel one block away from Stark Tower, Luigi's, room 122. We'll talk there at 6pm tomorrow. Also, I am using the alias Hamish Turner so I will be (usually) from here on out signing my texts as HT. -HT_

_P.S. Congrats on your new relationship. Does Tony Stark have a whip fetish?_

Mary-Kate glared at the phone as if it had offended her instead of Sherlock Holmes.

_Getting sentimental, "Hamish?"_

Response:

_I could say the same about you, Mary-"Kate". -HT_

Damn him.

_Why should I bother eating dinner with you of all people?_

Response:

_You owe me. -HT_

* * *

Natasha had allowed Mary-Kate to bring her to Luigi's hotel. Why, she wasn't sure. Mary-Kate said that a friend needed help, so there they were, knocking on the door of room 122.

"It's Mary-Kate. I brought someone who can help." Mary-Kate called through the door.

The door opened to reveal a six foot skinny man wearing a black shirt and jeans. His cheekbones were very visible and his eyes, if Natasha had been asked to describe them later, were glasz. His hair was short, curly, and had been dyed an odd but good looking ginger-brown color (she could tell, again, by the roots).

"I suppose you are Mary-Kate's friend that can help me. Come in, I ordered Chinese take out." His voice was baritone.

Mary-Kate and Natasha both fixed themselves plates of food after they sat next to each other on the small bed. The man sat in an armchair he had pulled over. A coffee table was between them. Natasha, noticing that the man did not eat, refrained from eating.

"I don't eat when I'm thinking, digestion slows me down. It's not poisoned," he said, but Natasha was stubborn. The man sighed, made himself a plate, took a few bites, and then settled down in his armchair again.

"Natasha Romanova." Natasha offered her hand for the man to shake. He cautiously did so.

"You'll forgive my hesitation. The last time I shook someone's hand, he put a gun in his mouth and committed suicide right there in front of me. I assume that, even though you six knives, one gun, and a can of mace on your person, you can be trusted?" The man eyed her warily.

Natasha raised an eyebrow in surprise, but she nodded.

"I am Sherlock Holmes. I see you've heard of me. I am not dead, nor am I in any means a fraud. The people who know that I am not dead are you two, a few members of my homeless network, and my older brother Mycroft, who practically is the British government. John Watson, my flatmate, cannot know about my current state of not being dead. He is a terrible actor and liar, you should've seen him when he thought that he was lying to me about having you put on a witness protection scheme in America." This last comment was directed at Mary-Kate, whose mouth twitched up in a smile. "Mycroft arranged for me to lay low in America until he can take care of the snipers that would not hesitate to kill the only three people I care about in the world if they knew I was alive. Mycroft must then, of course, clear my name. I am in need of lodgings, nicotine patches, and something to do so I don't get bored and start doing cocaine. I have been clean of the drug for three years and have little desire to start on it again. Any questions?" Sherlock Holmes said briskly. Natasha took a moment to take all that in.

"What do you mean by something to keep you from being bored?" She asked.

"Science equipment, something to experiment on, case files, a nice, juicy murder- You should know, if you know who I am. Also, I'm using the alias Hamish Turner."

Natasha nodded. "I see. Mary-Kate and I will make a few phone calls and we'll try and get you into Stark Tower. Who knows, maybe your sciency brain will fit right in with Tony and Bruce."

* * *

*****_The movie is Paul starting Nick Frost and Simon Pegg._

_Also, I made up Luigi's hotel._

_Think of new Sherlock as ginger!batch with Sherlock's personality and mannerisms._

_To continue or not to continue? That is the question._


	4. A Week And A Day

The day of the Fall and the following week had been hectic for Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock had figured out that there was no computer code early on. It was not possible. He had also figured out that Moriarty would want him to die in disgrace, because it would hurt Sherlock and everyone close to him. Sherlock was hoping that he'd be able to escape having to jump off Bart's (he had not known about the snipers), but just in case, he'd arranged it all with Molly, the Baker Street irregulars, and multiple people in his homeless network, and he had recorded his and Moriarty's rooftop conversation on his phone for Mycroft to use as evidence for proving his innocence. Sherlock had arranged for John to get hit by a bicycle because it would give his homeless network (whom had been the "audience" Moriarty pointed out when they were on the roof) time to use blood bags to make Sherlock look more injured than he was. Sherlock had ended up only having two fractured ribs, a cut or two on his forehead (easily covered with make-up), and fractured nose cartilage.

The worst part of that day, Sherlock decided, had been watching John break down in front of Sherlock's fallen body. Sherlock hated the phrase "broken-hearted" because your heart wasn't _really_ broken, but Sherlock's chest had physically hurt when John had tried to get to him saying "I'm a doctor, let me come through, please, he's my friend." _Don't blink, don't move, don't breathe, _Sherlock had chanted in his head as a dressed-up woman from his homeless network pried John's hand from Sherlock's wrist and John held back from crying.

Then he had been moved to a stretcher and whisked to the morgue, where Molly had swapped him for a corpse of someone similar and covered the new corpse with a blanket. Molly had then hid him in a large suitcase, and one of Sherlock's homeless network had taken him by cab to Molly's flat and given him a little medical aid. Molly stayed behind to make sure that the fake body was inspected and Mycroft was alerted that Sherlock was indeed alive and needed a closed-casket funeral.

The day after that whole mess, John stayed inside 221B the entire day and Sherlock was driven to Holmes manor, where he watched the programs on the news about his suicide. He filled Mycroft in on the situation and made Mycroft promise to eliminate the snipers before clearing his name.

The day after that was Sherlock's funeral. Mycroft told him who had went. John, John's sister, Mycroft himself, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Angelo, a few members of the homeless network and Baker Street irregulars, Molly, Sherlock's mother, and funnily enough, DI Dimmook, recently-promoted DI Donovan, and Anderson from forensics.

John helped Mrs. Hudson pack Sherlock's science things in boxes and then moved out of 221B the following day. For Sherlock, the day had been boring.

The next day was boring, too.

Mycroft told Sherlock the day after that that he had arranged for Sherlock to go to America while Mycroft handled things in England. Sherlock was going to go visit his own grave, but he ended up watching John and Mrs. Hudson visit his grave instead. Mrs. Hudson talked and cried. John talked and almost cried. Sherlock felt an odd sense of pride when John pulled himself together and left in a formal, military walk.

The next day, Sherlock cut and dyed his hair.

The day after that he flew to America and contacted Irene Adler/Mary-Kate Morstan.

* * *

"Anthony!"

Tony heard Mary-Kate calling him from the kitchen where she was making dinner.

"What?" He yelled back.

"Tell the boys that their food is ready, and help me set the table!"

"Coming!" Tony yelled. "JARVIS, tell Bruce and Cap." He said quietly as he walked to the kitchen.

"Yes, sir." Said JARVIS.

Ten minutes later they were all eating dinner at the nice table in Tony's refurbished dining room.

"Anthony, I was wondering if a friend of mine could stay at the tower for a while." Mary-Kate said. "You don't have to worry about him being a security threat, because he's my friend, and Natasha did a background check for you."

"Who is he?" Tony asked through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"A small-town British scientist; Hamish Turner. You'll like him, he's very intelligent." Mary-Kate nodded in Tony's and Bruce's direction. "He hardly eats anything, too, so he won't cost much to keep. He does need nicotine patches, though." She mentioned as an afterthought.

"Nicotine patches?" Bruce murmured.

"He quit smoking." Mary-Kate clarified.

"Well, I don't see a problem with it. He's just a friend, right?" Tony wiped his face with his napkin.

"Yes." Said Mary-Kate. "Pass the salt, please, Steve."

"We probably shouldn't let him know about our hero counterpart identities," said Steve as he passed Mary-Kate the salt. "Mary-Kate herself hadn't known about us at first other than you, Tony, so Mr. Turner probably won't either. Besides, he won't be staying for very long, and Director Fury is pretty upset that we told Mary-Kate. Dr. Banner can be a friend of yours, Tony; a bankrupt scientist who needed a place to stay or something. Hamish could sympathize with that."

"Yeah, and Steve is an Amish man trying to fit in with the modern world. Clint and Natasha are living together to save money on rent, right? Well, they can be friends of yours, Tony, who stop by every once and a while. Hamish doesn't have to know any of our secret identities. Other than yours, of course, since you issued a statement publicly. I'm going to get some more milk." Bruce grabbed his glass and walked away to the kitchen.

"Well, that's settled, then." Tony said as he finished his plate. "What's for dessert?"

"Wait until everyone else has finished, love," Mary-Kate chided with a smile. "I made bisc- er, _cookies_."

"That's my girl," Tony proclaimed proudly. She was already picking up on American lingo.

* * *

Sherlock paced his hotel room anxiously. Mary-Kate and Natasha had left his room three hours ago; Mary-Kate went to Stark tower to serve her boyfriend and company dinner, and he had no idea where Natasha went. Not a word had come from either of them in that time. Mycroft had texted once to make sure Sherlock had arrived safely in America, but that had been it.

His phone vibrated suddenly.

Sherlock snatched it off the table eagerly and read the text. It was from Irene- No, Mary-Kate.

_Anthony said that you may move in. He has an unspecialized floor for your living quarters, and a few of the R&D floors will be open to you. Pack your things and come to the tower at ten o'clock in the morning tomorrow. Give your name, Hamish Turner, to the rotund dark haired security man by the name of "Happy" and he'll bring you up._

Sherlock allowed himself a small smile. Maybe, since he would be living with Tony Stark, things wouldn't be boring.


	5. Moving In

Sherlock easily packed the few belongings Mycroft had smuggled into America for him. He had one or two of his old shirts, some new blue jeans, a credit card that would draw money from an account Mycroft set aside for him, some American dollars, his faked identification papers, a new coat, and one microscope. He put it all in a small black suitcase that was similar to the ones he and John used when they visited Dartmoor.

Sherlock took a cab to Stark tower. He walked into the lobby and looked for the security guard Mary-Kate told him to look for; Happy. He spotted him easily enough.

"Hello, sir," Sherlock walked over to him and plastered a friendly smile on his face. "I am Hamish Turner. I believe you are expecting me?"

"Lemme see here-" Happy checked a tablet. "Ah, yeah, c'mon, right this way." The rotund man led him to an elevator and pressed the button that would take them to one of the higher floors. A touchscreen panel on the wall of the elevator asked for a passcode. Sherlock watched as Happy typed "4323611HAP". The code was accepted. A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened. A blonde, muscled man sat on a couch watching an old American 1940s movie, but he stood up when Sherlock walked out of the elevator. Sherlock made a few observations in a matter of moments.

_military bearing, young-looking early twenties maybe, circles under eyes not sleeping well nightmares? PTSD? 1940s movies and jacket, muscled but not from manual labor that uses hands such as chopping wood, fishing, etc. ate pancakes with syrup for breakfast_

"Hi, you must be Mr. Hamish Turner, I'm Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you." Steve Rogers offered Sherlock his hand to shake. Sherlock did so.

_Brooklyn accent, calloused hands from holding guns and/or something with a handle_

"Thank you for bringing him up, Happy, I'll let Tony and Mary-Kate know that he's here." Steve nodded to Happy, who nodded back and walked into the elevator.

"Let me get your suitcase for you." Steve took the suitcase from Sherlock's hands and easily lifted it onto his shoulder. _Incredibly strong._

"Be careful, I have a microscope in there," Sherlock warned.

"I'm sorry, I'll be careful." Steve apologized. They walked up one flight of stairs to what looked like a lab. The glass walls allowed Sherlock to see two men inside: Tony Stark (Sherlock had done his research the night before) and a shorter man in a purple shirt not unlike the ones Sherlock used to wear.

"JARVIS, can you let us in?" Steve said, looking up at the ceiling. Sherlock was bewildered as a disembodied Boise answered:

"Yes, sir."

"Who was that?" Sherlock asked as the doors to the lab were unlocked and they walked in.

"JARVIS, Tony's...butler?" Steve looked a little confused himself.

"Artificial Intelligence system, actually." Tony Stark leapt up from his swivel chair where he had been playing with robot parts and strode over to Steve and Sherlock. Observations flitted through Sherlock's mind:

_dark circles under eyes tired nightmares? staying up building robots? oil and grease in fingernails, callouses on hands, arc reactor in chest, tan, casual clothing, arrogance bold he's sure of his own abilities_

"So, Hamish. Mary-Kate tells me you're a scientist." The unnamed man walked over quietly.

_cautious about where he walks, quiet, fidgety, glances around room occasionally- constant state of fear? anger management issues; afraid to go off into a rage? did not offer his hand; afraid of physical contact?_

"Mostly a chemist." Sherlock said, offering a (fake) cheery smile.

"I'm Bruce. I'm kind of bankrupt at the moment since my doctoring expenses in Calcutta were a bit much, so Tony's letting me stay here." The speech sounded rehearsed. _He's lying. Partly lying, at least._

"Nice to meet you." Sherlock said.

"Oh, right, I should explain what I'm doing here." Steve shuffled awkwardly. When Sherlock turned to him, Steve didn't meet his eyes. _He's about to lie, too._

"Let me, Steve-o." Tony stepped up, his face a mask. "Steve is Amish and he's tryin' to come out into the modern world. I'm letting him stay here until he can find a place of his own." _Lies, all of it. Very well. I've already deduced it all anyway._

Steve Rogers was probably Captain America. Stark being Iron Man; anything was possible with his companions at the tower. And Sherlock had done his research: Steve was the perfect build, and every observation worked in this theory's favor. Amish men did not register for the military or live in Brooklyn, Sherlock thought. He couldn't be sure, of course, he'd never met an Amish man, but everything fit.

That meant that this shy, scientist-doctor with possible anger issues was the Hulk. Maybe. Sherlock needed more data.

"Well, I'm Hamish Turner. Mary-Kate probably mentioned me. I hear you have a lab I can use?" Sherlock was _bored_, though these revelations about his new tower-mates were _a bit_ interesting.

"Your voice is deep." Tony observed, getting in Sherlock's face to look him over. Sherlock did not flinch, back away, or falter; he was used to people getting in his face.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked.

"No. So, what do you like doing, Hamish? What do you experiment on? And are you wearing foundation?" Tony backed off and grinned.

"TI wanted to cover a few cuts on my face so I could make a good first impression. I had previously been testing the decomposition of wet flesh in dry air after death, but they unfortunately did not allow me to bring my sample on the plane." Sherlock frowned in exasperation at the memory. Bruce and Steve looked vaguely ill, but Tony looked intrigued.

"Flesh, huh? Well, you've heard of the attack on Manhattan, right?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

"I looked it up last night. It did not appear on national news; your government kept it very hush-hush. I was not even aware of the Avengers' existence until I saw the Avengers' souvenir shop at the airport." Sherlock had and had not been pleased to learn of extraterrestrials and superhero group. On the one hand, something exciting and new was going on. On the other hand, he had (at first) known virtually nothing of the aliens or superheroes and was not fond of being ignorant.

"What would you say if I could let you have some alien corpses to experiment on? I could totally steal some from the government." Tony beamed as Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. Bruce mildly protested, and Steve reprimanded Stark with an exasperated "Tony!" not unlike how John scolded Sherlock, but Sherlock mainly tried to keep himself composed.

"I must confess that I would be in your debt, Mr. Stark."

"Call me Tony." They shook hands.

"Sir, Miss Morstan is requesting permission to come into the lab." JARVIS's voice said, making Sherlock jump.

"Let her in, Jarv! Steve, bring that suitcase hithero, we'll all go down to Hamish's floor." Tony kissed Mary-Kate as she entered the room and grabbed her hand. "Mary-Kate, lets show Hamish his room and then have lunch!"

* * *

An hour later, after Sherlock had excused himself from eating by saying he needed to unpack and then placing the few clothes he had in his closet, Sherlock went up to the Research and Development (that's most likely what the R&D stood for) floors to take a look at the science equipment.

"JARVIS," Sherlock called uncertainly.

"Yes, Mr. Turner?"

"I would like to take a look at the labs. Would you let me in?" Sherlock decided to be polite, as John would've wanted. "Please?"

"Yes, sir."

The doors opened and Sherlock walked in and beamed. Tony Stark had set up a nice chemistry area for him filled with all sorts of chemicals and science tools.

Sherlock couldn't wait to get started.

* * *

_Going to band camp tomorrow, this will probably be the last chapter you'll have until a week from now._


	6. What We Know

_Sorry for the long wait. Next week is going to be rather busy, as well; my sincerest apologies._

* * *

Tony, Bruce, and Steve were quiet for a moment as Mary-Kate set plates with sandwiches down in front of them.

"Alright, I know you will want to discuss Hamish in private, so I'll inform Clint that we have a new resident in the tower. Any questions before I leave?" Mary-Kate asked as she put her cell phone in her purse adjusted her hair.

"Um...well, I'm not sure about regular scientists these days, but I thought that normal scientists didn't try to bring rotting flesh on planes. He seemed genuinely disappointed when he recounted the event to us." Said Steve with a confused expression on his face.

Mary-Kate paused. "Hamish can be a little eccentric. If he gets out of hand, just remind him to tone it down a bit."

"And why is he here again?" Asked Bruce quietly. "Not that I don't like him. It's just curiosity."

"He had a few...problems in England. He's just staying until it blows over."

"How long will that be?" Tony asked.

"I'm not sure. Not long, certainly, a few months at the longest. Now, I have to run. I'll be back within the hour unless my plans change, and if they do, I'll call you." Mary-Kate kissed Tony on the cheek and then went to find a chauffeur.

They all waited a moment after she left to start talking.

"Do you think she's cheating on me with the guy?" Tony blurted worriedly.

"And bring him right under your roof? With JARVIS here to watch her every move? Unlikely." Bruce said. He bit into his sandwich.

"She doesn't seem like the kind of lady who would do that. She's kind, charming, and madly in love with you. Plus, she actually makes you eat and sleep on a regular basis, which she wouldn't do if she didn't care about you." Steve said brightly.

"How do you know she's madly in love with me?" Asked Tony.

"Isn't it obvious?" Bruce muttered.

"She looks at you the way that I looked at Peggy." Steve stared at the table with a blush on his cheeks and regret in his bright blue eyes.

Tony felt a pang of sympathy for the poor man, but he also felt relief. "Well," he said, cutting through the thick silence that had fallen over them, "lets recount what we know about Hamish Turner. He's a chemist, he's friends with Mary-Kate, what else?"

"He passed Agent Romanova's background checks," Bruce pointed out.

"And he had cuts on his face." Said Steve.

"Cuts? His face looked fine." Bruce looked confused.

"He was wearing foundation to cover it up," Tony explained. "Where did he get them from, I wonder?"

"Hamish is a bit odd in his experiments. Do most chemists do experiments on flesh?"

"Mary-Kate said he was eccentric." Tony took another bite of his sandwich. "Whaddaya think the problems in England were?"

"Not sure. Money? Falling out with a girlfriend?" Steve wondered aloud. "It could've been money. His suitcase was rather small."

"I guess we'll just have to ask him." Said Bruce.

"Or we could just wait and see if he slips up. And we could prank him! Oh, I hope his problems are with a chic, teasing him would be awesome!" Tony grinned in delight and finished his sandwich. "God, my girlfriend is a good cook."

"When're you going to propose to her, anyway?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, it's a about time you settled down, Tony," Bruce teased with a small smile.

"_You_ should settle down! Don't think I haven't heard about Betty." Tony pointed a finger at Bruce, and then looked thoughtful. "Point Break needs to marry that scientist woman, Foster. She'd be good for him."

"And we need to find Steve a girlfriend." Bruce said, his voice turning sly. "I've heard that Dr. Foster's assistant is pretty feisty. Could be exactly what our Captain needs."

"Oh, shut up!" Steve flushed with embarrassment. "I'm going to the park. You two go upstairs and science things or whatever with Turner. Tonight we can call over Barton, Romanova, and Thor to meet Turner. Does Fury know about all this?"

"Not a word." Tony leaned back in his chair.

"Well, I'll turn a blind eye to not telling him if you'll do the same."

"It's a deal, Capsicle. Now run along and think about your womanly futures!" Tony called after Steve, who was fuming with embarrassment and rage by the time he exited the building.

* * *

_Also sorry about the short chapter. Now, I need to know this._

_Do we want:_

_Comedy/Crack stuff_

_Mysteries: murder/kidnapping_

_Action (villains?)_

_A combination of some of those_

_or what? Please tell me in a review or something!_


	7. Hating Social Activities

_Tally so far:_

_Comedy/Crack stuff - 1_

_Mysteries: murder/kidnapping - 2_

_Action (villains?) - 2_

_A combination of some of those - 1_

_Also, Natasha will utter a curse word or two. Try not to mind it._

* * *

"Hi, Mary-Kate, how are you? Wassup?" Clint let her into the flat with an easygoing smile. Natasha was sitting on the couch watching Doctor Who, _The Empty Child_, from the Ninth Doctor's one season. Both adults were in their PJs (as Anthony says), and Clint also wore a dressing gown. Mary-Kate raised an eyebrow at their appearances but did not comment.

"I have just come to inform you that a friend of mine is staying at Stark Tower, so if you come to visit and find a strange man in the drawing room, don't shoot him, please. He'll probably be up on the R&D floors most of the time, though, so don't worry about it too much." Mary-Kate smiled blandly as if talking about not shooting a guest was just as common as the weather. Natasha already knew all this, of course. She had "done the background checks".

"Who is he?" Clint inquired.

"His name is Hamish Turner, he's a small town chemist of sorts, a bit eccentric and unsociable, so he shouldn't be a problem."

"Tony's done a background check, then?" Clint glanced over to Natasha with a serious expression on his face.

Natasha took a bite of a chocolate bar. "Not sure, but I have. OH MY GOD JESUS SHIT-"

Mary-Kate glanced over to the TV and watched as the doctor of the hospital started to transform into an empty person. She also looked at the chocolate, the "PJs", the fear on Natasha's face, the medication on the counter, and the bags under Clint's eyes. "Ah. Bad week, then?"

"Sharks came yesterday. Six days til they leave, I think." Clint replied cryptically.

"All the luck in the world to you," said Mary-Kate with a smile. Clint gave her a weary smile in return and plodded back to the couch. Mary-Kate looked down at a text she received and called over to Clint, "Dinner and a movie at the Tower at five o'clock, bring Natasha, don't be late."

"Being called over to meet the house guest?" Clint asked.

"Yes. We're not informing him of your Avengers identities, other than Thor and Anthony, since Anthony made a public statement and Thor is..."

"Got it. Thor coming?"

"Yes. See if you can contact him; he's welcome to bring himself and his friends. There's two scientists and an assistant, correct?" Mary-Kate added up all the people in her head. Thor and three is four, then herself and the other four residents at the tower, that made nine, and then Natasha and Clint made eleven. Fantastic. That last bit was sarcasm, by the way.

Maybe they could just order take out.

"Will do. Later!"

"Good bye." Mary-Kate left the flat and closed the door as quietly as she could. Natasha wasn't fond of loud noises, and angering her now would not be smart.

* * *

Bruce spared a glance up from his work to see how Hamish was doing.

Hamish had a petri dish of what looked like dirt under a microscope and was occasionally putting droplets of some liquid chemical in it. When a reaction happened (or didn't happen), Hamish would write something down and then reach for another petri dish and a new dropper.

Bruce watched in fascination as Hamish repeated the process over and over until he finally sat back and put his hands together under his chin in a prayer-like position. The taller man stared off into space for a moment. A moment became a minute, and then five, and then Hamish was at it again, this time with a strange chunk of concrete. Bruce shook his head in some emotion (amazement? exasperation? he wasn't sure) and went back to his own work.

Tony was piecing together a robot and started chattering aimlessly. "I need a name for it. It's gonna be Mary-Kate's birthday present, don't tell her, will you? I need a name for it, I dunno what to call it. Gah- stop screwing around!" Tony attacked a spring that shot into the air with vigor and tried to find it after it rolled under Hamish's table. There was some muffled swearing going on down there before Tony made a triumphant noise and went back at his robot with the spring in his hand.

"Oh, and Thor, Thor's girlfriend, Thor's other friends, and a couple of regular friends of mine are coming to dinner tonight to meet you. Mary-Kate'll do something nice and everybody's gonna eat together. Got it? It's at five." Tony grinned at Hamish, who didn't respond. He just kept working. Tony frowned at the lack of response. "Hey."

Nothing. Hamish switched petri dishes.

"Hamish!"

No response. Hamish muttered something to himself about minerals and reached out for another dropper. Tony grabbed Hamish's arm before he could get there, and Hamish tensed and glanced up at Tony.

"We're having dinner. At five. With a god. And friends. Did you not hear me?"

"No, I didn't." Hamish withdrew his arm from Tony's grasp. He glanced at Bruce and Tony for a moment and then said, "My apologies. I'll remember."

Tony and Bruce shared a look and they all continued to, as Steve would so aptly put it, "Science Things." As if "science" was a verb. Hah.

* * *

Mary-Kate had started cooking around four o'clock so she'd have time to make enough food for everyone. Steve helped as much as he could, but Mary-Kate ended up doing most of it anyway. Steve set the table.

They would be having burgers, fries, fruit salad, and mashed potatoes (a favorite of Anthony/Tony's), and for dessert Mary-Kate had backed a cake; half vanilla and half chocolate. The movie they'd picked out for after dinner was a Batman movie. Mary-Kate wasn't sure which one it was, but she thought it had something to do with a clown. No, a joker. _The_ Joker.

Clint and Natasha arrived at 4:45. Mary-Kate chatted amiably with Natasha as Clint ran up to get Tony, Bruce, and Hamish Turner. Steve was saved from standing around awkwardly when Thor, Jane, and Darcy came in. Selvig was working so he hadn't come.

Whatever Clint had expected Hamish Turner to look like, this wasn't it. He was two inches taller than Clint, and he was thin, with well defined cheekbones and curly ginger hair that had obviously been a dye job (this made Clint suspicious). Hamish was also devilishly attractive. He was standing and staring out a window at New York, watching the people and cars go by. Clint was pretty sure he did not have any weapons on him, so he wasn't a threat, unless that lanky body had been trained to kill.

Clint walked into the lab quietly after JARVIS opened the doors. He made his way over to Hamish as silently as he could, hoping to startle him. That would be hilarious. "First time in New York, then?"

Bruce and Tony jumped; they hadn't heard him come in and were startled when he broke the silence of the room. Hamish, however, had not moved an inch. Had he known Clint had come in?

"Yes." His voice was a surprising baritone. Hamish turned and looked Clint over, and Clint had the vague sensation of being analyzed. He didn't like it. "Not your first time, though. The guests are all here?"

Clint was pretty sure he really didn't like this guy. "Yeah, they're downstairs getting their plates filled. Tony, Bruce, you coming?"

"Yeah." Tony put down a screwdriver and Bruce stood up and stretched.

"I do believe it is customary to introduce oneself to a stranger." Hamish murmured as the four of them left the lab.

"You didn't introduce _your_self." Clint replied with irritation.

"But you already know my name, don't you?" Hamish retorted with a smirk. Clint's eyes narrowed.

"I'm Clint."

"A pleasure to meet you." Hamish smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes; cold and calculating.

* * *

Sherlock internally groaned. This was going to be torturous. He had to interact with these godforsaken so-called "superheroes", be polite while doing it, and no deductions, because he was supposed to be Hamish Turner. He knew that Clint and Romanova were assassins; the hidden weapons, stealthy way of walking, looking for exits after immediately stepping into a room, and relatively expressionless faces (Clint had trouble containing his anger, Sherlock noticed) gave it away.

Jane Foster (her name was on a silver bracelet in cursive) and her irritating-looking lab assistant were obviously with Thor (who stuck out like a sore thumb even in human clothing), and Foster was obviously smitten with the alien (not a god, Sherlock thought), who loved her, too. As Tony Stark talked with Dr. Banner, he called him "Big Guy", which made Sherlock's theory of the "doctor" being the Hulk more solid, since Dr. Banner was the shortest man in the room. Sherlock did not understand the pop culture references Stark used as nicknames for some of the others ("Point Break", "Legolas", and "Katniss" were all foreign to him).

"Everyone," Mary-Kate called for the group's attention and they quieted. "I'd like to introduce a friend of mine who is staying at the Tower temporarily. His name is Hamish Turner. He's from England." Mary-Kate gestured to Sherlock, who towered over all but Thor and Steve. He gave a little wave, because that's what he saw a person on the telly do once.

"Woah, he's hot," murmured Foster's assistant. Foster shushed her with embarrassment.

They were quickly seated at the table and food was served to all. Sherlock noticed that Steve and Thor grabbed the most food, while Tony and himself grabbed the least. Everyone else was kind of in the middle somewhere. They all idly chatted about things, Sherlock wasn't sure what, since he wasn't paying attention. He ate little and spoke even less. He had the displeasure of sitting next to the assistant (he learned her name Darcy Lewis), who kept trying to engage him in conversation.

"So, you're from England, right? What's London like?" She asked.

"Beautiful." He said. It was one of the first honest things he had said all day. Sherlock had realized as he stood looking out over New York earlier that he truly missed London. It was not a feeling he liked, but he would grow to be familiar with this feeling (_I hate sentiment, _he thought).

"Got a girlfriend back there?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

"No."

"Darcy, don't bother him so much." Jane Foster whispered to Darcy.

Darcy pouted. "I'm just asking questions. It could be worse.

"I thought you were from a small town, not London." Bruce Banner said.

"That does not mean that I haven't visited London." Sherlock said smoothly, covering his slip up.

"So, no girlfriend or boyfriend, hm?" Tony stared at Hamish thoughtfully. "Surely there's someone you have a crush on."

"No." Why was it that first dinner conversations with people kept going in the direction of romantic interests?

"Too bad for you then." Tony grinned. Sherlock's expression remained blank. He ate a small spoonful of fruit salad. "What about other family?"

God, people were nosy, annoying, and dull. "What of _your_ family, Stark?" Sherlock turned the tides back cooly and watched Tony's reactions.

_stiffened, face became mask, reached up instinctively to touch arc reactor (acquired under trauma but keeps him alive, so comfort source?): doesn't like his family? they're dead, previous internet searches revealed that much. no pictures around house of them, so definitely on bad terms before their deaths._

"You're avoiding my question." Tony retorted.

"And you, mine."

They were at a standstill for a moment before Mary-Kate intervened. "Hamish has a mother. His father is dead. He has an older brother. Anthony's parents are deceased and he's an only child. Now stop bickering, you two."

Tony looked both indignant and sheepish at the same time. Sherlock was a little irritated but did not say anything more.

"Now, I'll get the cake. I have vanilla and chocolate. How many of you want vanilla?" And just like that, any remaining tension in the atmosphere was gone.

Clint, Thor, Steve, Darcy, Jane, and Mary-Kate herself had vanilla. Bruce, Tony, and Natasha had chocolate. Sherlock declined the offer of any baked sugary "treat" and hoped that he could finally go back to the lab and finish mentally categorizing the different soils and concrete types of New York. Unfortunately for him, Mary-Kate pegged him with a look that said he had to stay and play social or else he wouldn't be allowed to stay at the Tower any longer, and Hamish needed this place. He didn't have to pay to lodge here.

After everyone finished chatting and eating their cake (other than Sherlock), they all started making their way to a room with lots of furniture and a Telly. Sherlock internally screamed. Now he had to sit in a room full of people and watch god-knows-what for hours.

The movie turned out to be okay. It was nothing like the Bond marathon Sherlock and John had once, but the Joker was an interesting villain. Sherlock noted that Tony, Steve, Bruce, Thor, Jane, and Darcy recoiled at more extreme parts, but Clint, Natasha, and Mary-Kate watched it passively with no signs of any emotion other than enjoyment of the movie. Sherlock was rather bored with anything that didn't have to do with the Joker, though even the Joker was nothing compared to Moriarty as far as intelligence went. They might have even gotten along and worked together if the Joker was real.

"How'd you like the movie, Hamish?" Tony asked when the credits started rolling.

"It was fine."

"Bruce Wayne is so cool. He's got a British butler! Do you have a butler?" Darcy asked Sherlock.

The Holmes family had a butler, of course, but Sherlock was currently Hamish Turner, so he responded with a no.

Darcy turned her head to look at the only other British person in the room. "What about you, Mary-Kate?"

"No, I didn't. I had a personal assistant once, but not a butler." Mary-Kate smiled.

"I've got a British butler," Tony proclaimed proudly.

"He's an AI, Tony, Darcy's talking about humans." Bruce reminded him gently.

"JARVIS is more of a babysitter than a butler. Well, he was, but now we've got Mary-Kate to take care of our favorite billionaire." Darcy grinned as Tony tried to swat her on the back of the head. Darcy dodged just in time.

Sherlock stood up and quietly left the room. His presence was no longer required and the male assassin, Clint, put him on edge.

"Is something wrong?" Jane Foster called after him. He waved a hand in response; a gesture that should translate to "I'm fine."

Sherlock retired to his room and lay on the bed with his hands steepled under his chin.

Sherlock could not continue to socialize like this. He couldn't handle it. He was good at acting, so being Hamish Turner shouldn't be a problem, but how long could he keep it up? And he needed those alien parts to work on or he'd go mad with boredom. He needed a case. How long would he have to stay with these Americans, anyway? Mycroft should surely be able to eliminate the snipers within the next week. Surely.

Sherlock decided to take a quick nap and then head to the labs. He slept for four hours and then did just as he planned to.

* * *

The next morning, Mary-Kate and Tony sat together and watched the morning news while Steve made pancakes. Bruce was still in bed. None of them had seen Hamish all morning, so Tony and Steve assumed he was still sleeping.

They all were distracted from what they were doing by the sound of quickened footsteps. Steve tensed up and clenched his fists in case of an enemy. Hamish dashed into the room suddenly and glanced around. Steve relaxed slightly, but not by much.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Need one of those," Hamish said, and grabbed a kitchen knife and started to leave again. He halted suddenly when he noticed the news. Bruce had come down at this point and was giving Hamish and his knife a wide berth.

An American news reporter was speaking. "On a darker note, a body was found and recently identified as Victor Hatherley. Hatherley was found dead in his apartment in Manhattan yesterday and identified this morning by a neighbor. Police are baffled, as this is the third murder where the corpse is almost unrecognizable and both thumbs have been cut off. Anyone with information is urged to contact this number-"

"_Yes_!" Hamish exclaimed suddenly, jumping into the air and startling everyone. "Finally, something _fun_ is going on!"

* * *

_Alright, the story should pick up rather quickly from here on out._

_Anyone got any ideas for a nickname Tony could use for Sherlock?_

_ You better be grateful for this file chapter. I did the entire thing on my iPod Touch. In fact, I'm posting it from here, too. It was a lot of trouble. _

_Also, if you were curious about some of their heights, here, the actors for these characters are these heights, so:_

_Thor - 6'4"_

_Loki - 6'2" (he probably won't be making an appearance, but I thought I'd mention him anyway)_

_Sherlock/Hamish - 6'0"_

_Steve - 6'0"_

_Clint - 5'10"_

_Tony - 5'9"_

_Bruce - 5'8"_

_Moriarty - 5'8" (definitely NOT making an appearance, because he's dead, but I thought I'd mention him anyway)_

_John - 5'6" (probably not making an appearance, but if he does, it'll be much later in the story)_

_Mary-Kate/Irene - 5'3"_

_Natasha - 5'3"_


	8. The Agents' Lack Of Thumbs, Part One

_Inspired by and very loosely based on The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle._

_Sorry about the wait. I've been visiting family, friends, and a grave in another state, so I haven't had much time to write. This chapter was also a bit challenging, so I do hope you'll forgive me._

_Warnings: Gory-ish stuff, murder-y stuff, mentions of rape, and a bit of foul language. But, I mean, you kind of knew it was coming, right?_

* * *

Previously:

An American news reporter was speaking. "On a darker note, a body was found and recently identified as Victor Hatherley. Hatherley was found dead in his apartment in Manhattan yesterday and identified this morning by a neighbor. Police are baffled, as this is the third murder where the corpse is almost unrecognizable and both thumbs have been cut off. Anyone with information is urged to contact this number-"

"_Yes_!" Hamish exclaimed suddenly, jumping into the air and startling everyone. "Finally, something _fun_ is going on!"

* * *

Everyone except for Mary-Kate stared at the tall man in horror.

"I'll need access to the crime scene and police files and records, along with unquestioning obedience from the police force. I'll have to examine the body, too, what connects the three victims? I hope it's a serial killer, I love those." Hamish paced the room excitedly. He put the knife back in its place and seemed like he was about to speak again when JARVIS interrupted.

"Mr. Barton is currently in the air ducts and is making his way to your location, sir."

As if summoned, an air vent was kicked out and Clint dropped to the floor. "That's the third agent-" he began angrily, but stopped when he realized Hamish was in the room.

Hamish, however, beamed at the assassin gleefully. "Agent! So they're all agents; that's the common denominator. The killings are a message to your employer, then- What were these agents doing before they died? Where did they go? Who did they talk to? The pancakes are burning."

Steve jumped in surprise at the last remark and swore when he realized the pancakes were, in fact, burnt.

Clint was watching Hamish with suspicion. "What the hell-?"

"Come on, we've got to go now before the police contaminate the crime scene too much. John, fetch me my coat-" Hamish, frenzied with activity before, froze in place. He looked lost for a moment, before clearing his throat. "Alright. Lets get a move on."

"We can't just waltz onto a crime scene like freaking detectives. And what is 'fun' about murder?!" Tony exclaimed.

"Of course we can. Agent Barton here can get us access."

Hamish turned back to Clint when he heard a gun being cocked and found the barrel of one in his face. "How did you know I was an agent?"

Hamish scoffed. "Relax, I'm not a spy. You crawled through the air ducts, started talking about agents the minute you got in here, and you have at least three hidden guns on your person. Hardly a difficult leap. Now will you please put that down so we can go?" Hamish sighed. Clint waited a moment before lowering the gun.

"Hamish," Mary-Kate said patiently, "you're still wearing your clothes from yesterday."

"Ah, of course." Hamish dashed off to put fresh looking clothes on.

"What the hell was that?!" Clint exclaimed with surprise and anger all over his face. "He's a chemist. You said he was a chemist."

"He _is_ a chemist." Mary-Kate said, blinking at Clint innocently.

"Who thinks murder is fun? Why are we going to the crime scene again?" Bruce asked in a confused voice.

"_We_?!" Tony asked incredulously.

"He's going to solve the murders and catch the killer." Mary-Kate stated bluntly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the whole world. "Since he knows you're an agent anyway, you might as well let him help you out and catch the killer of your fellow agents. He'll need all the facts, of course. Run along, I'll stay here."

The room went silent as everyone pondered her words. Clint muttered a curse. "Fury's gonna be pissed."

"Why should he have to know about it?" Asked Tony with a smirk. "What he don't know can't hurt him."

"Fury and some people near the top are the ones who know what the agents were assigned to do. We're a spy agency, Tony, the officials keep secrets." Clint glared at Tony and his obliviousness.

"Just tell Fury that _you're_ investigating. He'll probably buy it and give you the information." Tony was relaxing on the couch now.

"Exactly, so why don't you keep some, too? And hey, Hamish was saying something about some guy named John a minute ago. Should we get him, too? Can he help?" Tony asked.

"No." Hamish said suddenly as he walked into the room. He wore a pair of jeans, his shoes from yesterday, and a black button down shirt. He also had a grey scarf on. "Don't." His expression was one of profound regret, but it changed to something bored when everyone looked at him. It startled the Avengers, and it shut everyone up for a moment.

"Is that my scarf?" Tony eventually asked with a frown.

"Doesn't matter, you've got at least twelve of them anyway. Lets go! Clint, get us passes for the crime scene. Rogers, come with me."

"What? Why?"

"Less likely to get attacked on the streets when there's two of us."

"_What_?!"

"If Capsicle's going, I'm going, too." Tony protested indignantly. Clint nearly facepalmed at the nickname slip up.

"The press cannot know about my investigation. That makes it complicated. No, you'll be needed later when we actually go to the crime scene. You'll direct the press's attention away from the scene if any reporters are still hanging around. Banner, prepare the rubber gloves, tweezers, and other equipment. Laters!" Hamish strode quickly to an elevator. Steve leapt up to follow, only stopping to take the comm. Clint offered him.

"Keep in touch. Lemme know about his movements. I don't trust the guy." Clint said to Steve, who nodded and dashed off after Hamish. Clint glared at Mary-Kate, who just arched an eyebrow at him.

Bruce went to prep the stuff he thought Hamish might need, thinking all the while that he had just wanted someone ordinary to talk to, but no, Mary-Kate just _had_ to bring a weird one over.

Who the hell thinks murder is fun?!

* * *

The elevator ride down to the ground floor was awkward, if you asked Steve his opinion. Hamish had taken out his phone and was checking something or another on the internet. Steve wondered where they were going.

They got to the ground floor, and Hamish put away his phone. Hamish led the way out of the doors and down a few side streets. They walked for a solid half hour. Hamish made no move to start a conversation, so Steve kept quiet. They were getting closer to a sketchier part of New York. Steve realized why he had been brought along.

Steve finally said something. "Are you sure we're going the right way? This place doesn't look too good."

Hamish said nothing. Steve ended up following him to a very small house. Hamish knocked on the door. Steve heard the footsteps of someone coming to open the door. There was a pause when the person reached the door, and then it opened.

An Indian (Indian Indian, not Native American) teenager with gauze over one eye, long black hair, and plain clothes locked her eyes on Hamish and beamed.

"Sigerson! Good to see you, good to see you. Come in, come in. Ama is making tea, British, just the way you like it. Who is your friend?" She spoke with a slight accent. Steve was startled at the name "Sigerson". Was Sigerson the alias of Hamish? Or was Hamish the alias of Sigerson?

"This is Steve Rogers." Hamish/Sigerson stepped in the doorway and wiped his shoes on the mat. Steve did the same. "Is your little sister in the hospital again?"

A startled, sad look passed over the teenager's face. "She died two months ago. Do not bring her up in front of Ama, it still hurts her."

Hamish wore a sympathetic expression. "My apologies."

"Not your fault. You do not control the gods, the gods control you, eh?" She smiled tiredly and led them to the kitchen.

An older woman was having some tea at a small table. The teenager murmured, "Ama, guests." The woman looked up and gasped.

"Sigerson! It is good to see you! You do not eat enough. Told you to take care. Sit, sit, have tea. Bought lemon tarts, have some, have some." The woman spoke broken English. She pulled out a box of lemon tarts from Starbucks and set them on the table, then fetched some more cups and poured them tea.

"This is Steve Rogers. He's helping me on the new case; the one where the thumbs have been cut off. Do you have any information for me?" Hamish/Sigerson asked.

"Call me Lakshmi," said the woman to Steve, who nodded and offered a quick smile. "I do not have much, I did not know you were coming. Two male, one female. No sign of forced entry. Both thumbs cut off."

"What connected the three people?" Hamish/Sigerson asked. Steve frowned. Didn't they already know that? All three were SHIELD agents. Well, Hamish/Sigerson knew they were agents, anyway. He didn't know about SHIELD.

"Do not know, I am sorry."

"You have done me a good favor. Here is my new number if you find anything else out." Hamish/Sigerson handed her a card with a sequence of numbers written on it. They bid her goodbye and the teenager showed them to the door.

"How bad is your eye, ma'am? What happened?" Steve asked curiously before she closed the door.

"It was a long time ago. It got infected recently when I accidentally cut it slightly and I'm waiting for it to heal. Do not trouble yourself. Goodbye."

Steve followed Hamish/Sigerson away. Once they were far enough out of sight, Steve asked, "Why did they call you Sigerson?"

"Alias I was using in the country at the time. I was on a boarding school trip charity thing in a foreign country when a bomb went off at a factory nearby. It killed Lakshmi's husband and her eldest daughter lost her eye; they were working there to help support the family. I figured out who planted the bomb, brought them to justice, and arranged for Lakshmi and her remaining family to move to America." Hamish answered Steve's spoken and unspoken questions calmly.

"That was generous of you," said Steve. "Wait, boarding school? How old were you? How could you use an alias in boarding school?"

"I only sent them here so they would keep quiet that I had solved it; I was not being generous. I technically was not allowed to leave the sight of my teachers, and my brother and parents would not react well to my little escapades, though I suspect my brother knows. The alias was so that if they mentioned me by name, it wouldn't be _my_ name, and I wouldn't get in trouble. Call Agent Clint on your comm. I need to get on the crime scene, and fast."

"What?!" Steve stopped walking suddenly.

Hamish stopped walking at the interruption and turned to face Steve impatiently. "I thought I was perfectly clear."

"How'd you know I had the comm.?"

"He's an agent, of course he'd give you a comm. Besides, I can see it."

"It's skin colored!"

"Don't be stupid. It's an eighth of a shade darker than your skin tone."

Steve shook his head in exasperation at the ginger man and started a conversation on his comm. "Clint, we need to get to the crime scene. Grab Tony, Bruce, the science stuff, and badges, and lets go. Where is it? No, we just talked to a woman and got a bit of information. No. Clint! C'mon. Yes. Over and out."

"Well?"

"Follow me. It's in Manhattan-"

"I remember."

"-and Clint gave me the address. He'll meet us there with the passes and such."

"Lets get moving. We don't want the trail to run cold."

* * *

It had not been easy for Clint and Natasha (she had heard about what was going on and decided to tag along) to get everyone onto the crime scene. Thank goodness the press hadn't been around that much, and no one who could leak anything recognized Tony.

The police had protested a bit at letting strangers on their crime scene, and had protested even more at the thought of letting them help out. The official government badges had only hushed their complaints a little, and they almost downright refused to let Tony on the scene. Bruce and Hamish were scientists that knew how to behave, Clint and Natasha were "officials" so of course they knew procedure, but Tony? Tony was like a walking time bomb waiting to go off. (Steve had opted to wait outside since he wasn't too comfortable with the thought of examining a murder scene.) Finally, _finally, _after giving Tony plastic gloves and strict orders not to touch, move, or even breathe on anything whatsoever, they were all in the victim's apartment.

The victim's rooms were on the top floor, and they were a bit lavish. It made sense, considering he was an agent, and probably a good one, at that. Bruce wouldn't have been surprised if the man owned the whole apartment complex.

Hamish was like a tracker dog, looking at every single thing as he moved through the house. That would make the rest of them dogs, too, though; they were following him like trusting puppies. Clint watched as Hamish looked over the door edges and handle.

"No sign of a forced entry, no windows broken, no hidden trapdoor- someone familiar, then, look, Hatherly made coffee." Hamish moved through the halls carefully until he got to the living room.

The living room had two armchairs; one faded pink and the other brown leather, a fireplace with a black grate and poker, a brown carped, brown and white checkered wallpaper, and no windows. In between the two chairs was a white coffee table, which had two mugs filled with brown liquid on it. The coffee pourer thing lay on the ground, but not much coffee had remained in it.

In the brown chair lay the corpse of Hatherly, his face and chest bloodied and smashed in by some blunt instrument and both of his thumbs missing.

Hamish stood in the doorway of the room for a moment and glanced around, then made a beeline for the fireplace.

Clint checked to see how the others were faring. Bruce looked reserved and a little sad at seeing the corpse. Tony looked disgusted.

"He _enjoys_ this." Tony whispered incredulously.

"Save it for later. We need all the help we can get, even if its just from some detective-wannabe chemist." Clint muttered back. He watched Hamish like a hawk as Hamish knelt in front of the fireplace.

Tony and Bruce watched Hamish, too, though they weren't watching out of mistrust. They were curious about his work methods.

"He completely ignored the body," said Bruce. Hamish sniffed the fire poker.

"This was the murder weapon," Hamish said as he pointed to the fire poker. The three men stared at him.

"How do you know?" Tony asked.

Hamish gave him a withering and incredulous look. "You're a proper genius, Stark, isn't it obvious? Are you truly blind in this room to have noticed nothing?"

"I can see fine, you rude, ginger Brit! The Doctor would-" Tony began protesting, trying to use a British TV reference to back him up, but the aforementioned ginger was having none of that.

Hamish scoffed. "You do not _observe, _Stark, none of you observe! Hatherly was struck with a blunt instrument on the back of the head as he was sitting in his chair serving coffee. 'How do you know he was serving coffee?' The thing he used to pour it is on the floor, suggesting he dropped it when he was struck. The person who would have soon been sitting opposite him, presumably the murderer, has a full cup that has not been drunk out of, also suggesting that the victim poured coffee, since society tends to think that serving your guest first is more polite. We can be inclined to think that the victim did not suspect his guest was out to get him, but maybe he did, it's hard to say since he was an agent."

"He probably didn't know. Who offers their enemies drinks?" Bruce asked skeptically.

Hamish fell vaguely silent and Tony coughed.

Bruce suddenly remembered when they'd caught Loki in Stark tower, and the god had said, "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll have that drink now." Bruce groaned. "Tony- Loki- You didn't-"

Tony held up his hands in surrender, but the cocky grin kind of nullified the submissive gesture. Clint had caught on and facepalmed.

Tony cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. "Are you sure the fire poker was the blunt object? It could've been something else."

"The fireplace has been used recently." Hamish said as if that explained everything. Everyone else just stared at him a moment before he groaned. "The poker is _clean. _No fingerprints, no ash, no blood. It also has the faint scent of citrus, and the almost depleted bottle of hand sanitizer to Stark's left is lemon scented. The murderer cleaned the weapon so that no one would know that it was the weapon, and there were no fingerprints anyway so she couldn't be traced."

"_She_?!" Tony exclaimed. "You expect me to believe that the murderer is a woman?!"

"Hatherly took the chair that wasn't pink, even though he prefers the pink one, because he believed his guest to prefer it to the brown like he did. We know he prefers the pink one because it is a more lived-in chair. The murderer's mug is prettier, as well, and the killer made one mistake when they were cleaning up. When she left, and again, no one had taken notice of the woman because she was familiar, she accidentally had a little bit of blood on the bottom of the heel of one of her high heels, leaving a strange blood spot in several places on the way to the door. Didn't you notice them when we walked in? No, don't bother answering, of course you didn't." Hamish paused and took a brief breath. The three men and Natasha watched him with some awe and a twinge of respect. No one could get a word in edgewise. "Now, the familiar person wasn't a family member because Hatherly doesn't have family that visits him, there're no pictures of them anywhere in this apartment, probably they threw him out of their home when they learned what he was; and she wasn't a romantic interest, but she wore high heels, so she was from his work, then. Probably masquerading it as an office job, going by the frankly alarming number of ties in Hatherly's closet. Too bad the CCTV cameras have been tampered with. Conclusion: you have a female double agent that knows Hatherly in your agency, Agent Clint."

"A double agent?" Clint growled ominously. Natasha put a warning hand on his shoulder.

"You mentioned that she wasn't a romantic interest," Natasha commented.

"Of course not, he's gay, his boyfriend broke up with him recently." Hamish said. He put his hands together and walked around.

"How do you know that?!" Bruce asked, but that explained the "preferred pink armchair" comment, the "parents threw him out" comment, etc.

"I chatted with his landlady while you were trying to get onto the scene. Unfortunately she doesn't know anything about the crime, she had been on vacation and only got back late last night. Before you ask, different country, good alibi, not the murderer."

A pause. Tony looked around the room. _He_ certainly couldn't have figured all that out.

"So lets recap what we know here," Bruce suggested.

Hamish was the one to list the facts. "All three of the victims were agents; spies, right? of some agency. The thumbs have all gone missing for some reason."

"They're sent to HQ." Natasha said. Clint looked at her in astonishment. How could she just reveal that to a stranger?!

"Oh. _Oh_. Good, good, they're giving us exactly what we need!" Hamish beamed ecstatically.

"They?"

But Hamish stopped conversing with them and bent to examine the thumb stumps. Clint tried to catch his attention, but Hamish completely ignored him.

"A butcher cleaver, maybe," he muttered at one point, and then he was leaving.

"What are you doing, Hercule Poirot? Where do you think you're going?" Tony called after him as the three men and Natasha rushed to catch up.

"I need more information." Hamish called back. "Take us to the tower."

When they had caught up with Hamish and had rejoined Steve, Hamish quietly said to Tony, "I am in need of your computer hacking skills."

* * *

Back at the Tower, Hamish and Tony rushed up to the labs to find a large computer screen (it wouldn't be that difficult) and Clint, Natasha, and Bruce sat in one of the living rooms while Steve made them all sandwiches. They waited until Steve was seated with them before starting their conversation.

"I've never seen anything like it. Hamish notices everything. No detail is too small." Bruce confessed.

"He's freaky. I don't like him." Clint said bluntly.

"No more freaky than the rest of us," Steve said gently. "Is the investigation going well?"

"Hamish thinks there's a double agent in SHIELD. A woman who knew Hatherly. He's not sure who."

"Did she kill all three agents, then?" Steve asked.

"I guess." Clint shrugged.

"No," said Hamish, striding into the room with Tony at his heels, "the other two murderers were men."

"How do you know?" Steve asked with some surprise.

"We hacked the police's database." Tony said calmly, as if he was conversing about the weather. Steve choked on his sandwich.

Clint gently thumped Steve on the back as Steve managed to say, "You did _what_?!"

"Relax, Cap, you know me, no one even knew we were there." Tony said cheerily as he went to find some booze (he announced his intentions quite loudly).

Hamish took a seat on a couch and steepled his hands under his chin. "They, these murderers, are two different men, one has a size first victim, Venner Fuller, was killed by a bullet wound to the head from a distance. It is unknown what location he was at when he was shot, but he had last been seen in his home. This killer was careful- He collected the body, cut off the thumbs and pulled the bullet out immediately after the victim's death, so the police couldn't figure out what kind of gun was used. The body was then put in a garbage bag and into a trash compactor. He accidentally left a size eleven footprint at the scene. I'm sure you received the thumbs shortly afterward." Hamish's eyes flicked to Clint and Natasha, who were the only people in the room who didn't look disgusted. They nodded.

"And the second victim? Female, right?" Bruce asked.

"This was the sloppiest work. Her name was Victoria Matheson. The killer drugged the woman, gagged her, kidnapped her and brought her to a soon to be sold building in a shadier part of New York, broke her arms and legs, raped her, and then slit her throat with a knife and cut off her thumbs. Though, I'm not sure if the thumbs were cut off before or after her death, this murderer seemed particularly sadistic. You received the thumbs?" Again, Hamish's eyes flicked to the two agents, who nodded; and again, those two were the only ones who didn't look disgusted. "Luckily, they were able to get a sample of DNA from semen, so we might be able to track him after all."

"Still think this is 'fun'?" Tony muttered angrily after a sip of whiskey. He had come back into the room in the middle of the Venner Fuller explanation.

"Of course." Hamish looked surprised that Tony could even think otherwise. Then, he looked like he had just comprehended something. "Ah. You're upset that three people are dead and one was raped. Sentiment."

"Sentiment?! Hamish, they're dead! These people had lives!" Steve blurted in a sudden outburst of anger.

"Oh, you're just as bad as John!" Hamish roared as he threw his arms up in the air angrily. "Crying about it isn't going to help them, is it? You're right. They're dead. I'm trying to catch their _killers_, don't you think that's much more beneficial than feeling sorry for a few corpses? People die all the time, get used to it." Hamish retorted sardonically.

Steve looked like he wanted to kill Hamish. The poor blond man knew about death, alright. All of his friends were long dead. How _dare_ Hamish say such a thing?! Steve continued to glare at the man as Hamish moved his focus to Clint and Natasha.

"So, what were they investigating? What had they discovered that was so bad it needed to be hushed up by the ones being investigated by murder? Who is sending those thumbs to your agency as a warning to back off?" Hamish asked, firing off the questions in rapid succession.

"I'll have to check," said Clint, and Hanish looked irritated. He looked as if he was about to complain, but was interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing. Everyone was surprised when Hamish pulled out his own phone and scowled at it.

Hamish answered the cell phone. He spoke into it irritably. "What do you want?" He got up and walked out of the room.

Tony waited until he was out of earshot before saying, "JARVIS, hack into his call and play it on our comm. systems."

Clint passed Bruce and Tony a comm. since everyone else already had one. Bruce didn't put his in. "Why are we doing this?"

Tony put his finger to his lips in a "hush" motion, and Bruce sighed, putting the thing in his ear.

"-ing sure your new housemates haven't killed you yet. You are so bothersome, I'm not sure how I put up with you." An unfamiliar older man's voice (British) said.

"How's the diet?" Hamish interrupted, sounding cold.

"Fine." The man replied scathingly.

There was a pause as everyone (except Natasha, since she knew who Hamish really was, she could easily figure the new voice out) wondered who the man was. His father? No, Hamish only had a mother, Mary-Kate said so.

"You wouldn't be calling me just for that," Hamish said finally.

"Do you not believe me when I say I worry about you?" The man asked.

"Not for a second." Was Hamish's immediate reply.

"I have received reports that you're investigating a triple murder," the man said, and everyone (except Natasha) in the room was surprised. Did Hamish's acquaintance really have an ulterior motive for the call?

"What business is it of yours?" Hamish replied coldly.

"You're supposed to be-"

"I'm being careful!" Hamish interrupted.

"Are you _trying_ to endanger your ex-flat mate's life?" The older man asked exasperatedly.

"_Never_. Do not _ever_ suggest such a thing again." Hamish replied with a vehemence which startled the eavesdroppers.

"Do not do anything rash, or I'll be forced to intervene." The man said threateningly.

"And do what? Drag me back to Mummy?" Hamish snorted.

The man sighed. "Don't be difficult, your ex-flat mate is being frustrating enough, and I have more important problems to attend to than you two."

"What's happened? What's wrong?" Hamish asked with sudden concern in his voice.

"He's fine. He just goes out of his way to avoid my protection. He's taken up the medicinal practice again. Did you know he was going to sign up for military duty again?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from Hamish.

The man contained as if there had not been an interruption. "I stopped him, of course. We can't have him going and getting himself shot, now can we? That's the exact thing you jumped to avoid."

"Have you taken care of the problem yet?" Hamish asked after he let out a relieved breath of air.

"It is proving to be more...difficult...than we anticipated. You may have to remain in America for longer than we planned. I'd advise you go clothes shopping. And _no long coats_." This last bit was delivered with a scolding tone, but an air of amusement, as well.

There was a moment of silence, and then Hamish spoke. His voice contained no humor, only urgency. "Hurry it up."

The line went dead. One of the two had hung up.

A pause.

"What the hell was that?" Tony asked finally, breaking the silence of the room.

"That seems to be a common response to anything to do with Hamish Turner," Bruce quipped, but it was forced.

"Why did you hack his conversation, Tony?" Steve asked. "It's eavesdropping. It's not right."

Tony shrugged. "Clint was suspicious about Hamish, and to be honest, I'm a little suspicious, too. He's obviously more than he seems. And who do you think that man was on the phone?"

"His brother, maybe?" Bruce suggested.

"Well, anyhow, we need him to help figure out who's killing these SHIELD agents." Steve said, and everyone nodded (some more reluctantly than others). Steve started using his Captain voice. "We can interrogate him or something later. Barton, Romanova I need you two to find out everything you know about what those three agents were investigating. Banner, Stark, you two can do whatever you want that isn't counterproductive to the team. I'm going to bring a sandwich to Turner, he hasn't eaten all day. Report back here for dinner at six if you can."

Tony and Clint snapped mocking salutes, and everyone moved to do what they had been assigned to do.

Bruce and Tony were in the elevator to a lab when Bruce said, "You read Agatha-"

"Shut up, Bruce." Tony interrupted. "High school."

* * *

_Please let me know what you think._

_Also, for those of you who get the detective reference, I haven't actually read any of those books yet. YET._


	9. The Agents' Lack Of Thumbs, Part Two

_Alright, let's see how this plays out, shall we?_

_Also, can I mention that I am unbeta-d (I've never had a beta before, actually) so all mistakes are my own and not anyone else's. I really did try to do research, but I'm not very good at that sort of thing, so if anyone can find better information on anything I can edit the chapter._

_And I don't own The Avengers or Sherlock Holmes or BBC's Sherlock or Benedict Cumberbatch._

* * *

Steve went to the kitchen to make Hamish a sandwich, but halted abruptly when he realized he didn't know what kind Hamish would like.

"He won't eat anything if he's working."*****

Steve jumped a little and turned his head to look at Mary-Kate, whom had walked into the kitchen.

"Sorry, Ma'am, I didn't see you there. Would you like something to eat?" Steve asked politely, then frowned. "And what do you mean, 'he won't eat anything if he's working'? He has to eat sometime. Who knows how long this case will take?"

Mary-Kate shrugged. "And no, thank you, I had lunch while you were gone. Have you made any progress?" She asked, accenting the "pro" in "progress".

"Yeah, there are double agents in SHIELD, and there are three murderers- two men and a woman." Steve sighed. "This is quite the mystery we have here, though I suspect that it'll be resolved quickly now. Does Hamish do this often? He's like a pro."

Mary-Kate paused. "Clint Barton and Natasha Romanova are looking into the double agent thing, correct?"

"Uh, yes, Ma'am." Steve wondered if she was deliberately changing the subject.

"Will they be back in time for dinner?"

"I don't know, Ma'am."

"And I suspect that Thor won't be coming. Very well, then, I'm going to get Hamish's measurements and go shopping. He needs clothes- have you seen his closet? No, of course not, you're too decent to go through other people's things- and he's obviously too busy to go out and buy them himself. Oh, don't look at me like that, you don't have to volunteer to do it instead. I need _something_ to do, after all."

There was no news from Clint or Natasha that day.

Mary-Kate left the shopping bags of clothing outside Hamish's door, since he did not respond when she knocked.

Hamish did not join them at dinner. Tony, Bruce, Mary-Kate, and Steve ate and then watched a movie, three of the four trying to put the murder problem out of their mind.

* * *

"Sir, Mr. Barton and Miss Romanova have arrived." JARVIS's voice broke the silence that Sherlock's room had been under for hours.

"Good. Where are they?" Sherlock asked, rising quickly from his seated position he had been in since the day before.

JARVIS gave him the directions to the right floor and room where the rest of the Avengers (minus Thor, plus Mary-Kate) had already assembled. They looked at the British, recently ginger man as he entered, as if expecting him to start deducing things right away. He resisted the urge to scoff at them.

"Hey, Weasley, we were about to send Steve up to get cha." Tony said with a wave.

Sherlock frowned in confusion and mild irritation. "I bare no resemblance to a weasel."

Tony, Bruce, and Clint looked mildly horrified for some reason, while Steve looked confused and Natasha sighed. Sherlock deduced that he was missing some culture reference.

"The three agents were investigating a man rumored to be smuggling weapons out of the United States and dealing under the table. All the agents returned with no findings; the man seemed to be clean. Then, the murders started happening. The thumbs were sent to us immediately after each death." Natasha reported.

"Describe him." Sherlock demanded.

"Colonel Mike Lysander, age 43, 5'9". Very polite, but aloof. Estranged sister. Comes from a wealthy home. He's old fashioned and likes being on the front lines. Intelligent- he graduated college in the top of most of his classes. Invalided home four years ago from a bullet wound in the shoulder."

"So, why kill the agents if they found him clean?" Asked Tony.

"Maybe the thumbs were meant as a warning for SHI- er, your agency- to stop investigating?" Bruce suggested, pausing in the middle when he realized that Sherlock didn't know who employed Natasha and Clint.

Unfortunately for the Avengers, Sherlock knew enough about secret agencies (he spent too much time investigating for Mycroft, apparently) that he could narrow it down to three agencies that began with "shi" in a quarter of a second.

"It was a mistake on his part, this just increases our suspicion of him. The Director is probably assigning another agent to him as we speak." Clint said blandly.

"So why don't they just go and arrest the guy?" Steve asked.

Sherlock was outwardly silent. His brain, on the other hand, was abuzz with activity.

_He is found innocent so far, but raises suspicion by warning the agency away by killing the agents investigating him? Maybe he doesn't know that they reported him innocent- no, of course he does, he has double agents placed in Romanova and Clint's agency (SHIELD, most likely)- so why kill the agents when he's clean? He's supposedly smart- that mistake was not smart. This doesn't add up- Unless he's not the one arranging for the agents to be killed! He may not even know he's being investigated. If the double agents aren't his, though, then whose are they? Are they trying to warn SHIELD away? No, what if-_

"No," Sherlock said slowly. "No, this isn't right."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

"He's smart. If he knew he was being investigated, and his spies told him he was reported clean, then why raise suspicion to himself by killing off the agents who investigated him?"

"You think that the killings were ordered by somebody else," Natasha realized.

"Yes."

"Is someone trying to help him out, but going about it stupidly, or is someone trying to frame him? Does he know the persons are murdering the agents tailing him?" Clint asked.

"Now you're finally asking the right questions." Sherlock murmured.

"How're we going to find out?" Asked Bruce curiously.

Sherlock paused. "Clint, you said that your director is probably assigning another agent to tail Lysander."

"Yes..."

"Tail the tailer. When the agent is about to be murdered, capture the culprit. We'll question him-"

"Or her," Natasha interrupted.

"-and learn who's behind all this. From there we can have them arrested and questioned, and then there won't be any more murders from that area."

"Welp, that'll be easy, then." Tony clapped his hands once and stood up.

"Wait. Who are we trusting to follow the agent that'll be investigating the colonel?" Clint asked.

Everyone stared at him until he realized and groaned.

"Why me, of all people?" He muttered angrily.

* * *

_*****__If anyone is wondering how Mary-Kate knows that Sherlock won't eat if he's working, remember that John left the flat for a bit leaving Irene alone with mind-palace Sherlock and told her that he would talk to John even if John wasn't there, so it would make sense that he warned her against offering him food and other things, too._

_I would make this longer but it's five in the morning and I don't feel like it. Part three should be up soon._


	10. The Agents' Lack Of Thumbs, Part Three

_school is starting in a few weeks. I won't be updating as quickly, and I apologize in advance._

* * *

Clint cursed inwardly as he followed Agent Carson, who was following Lysander. Why did _he_ always get chosen for the weird missions?!

At least Mary-Kate had protested a little. Natasha just instinctively knew that he'd live and be okay. Mary-Kate was concerned that since the murderers had already defeated several field agents, who's to say they wouldn't hurt Clint? To reassure her, Natasha was on standby in case he needed backup. Please, as if Clint would need backup.

It had been a week since Hamish Turner had told Clint to follow this guy. Nothing had been happening. When the police tried to get DNA from the sperm sample from Victoria Matherson's corpse, the DNA turned up no results in any American police records. This guy was obviously good at his job, as he had wiped his own existence from the map.

Tony had gotten his hands on some alien corpses for Turner to experiment on while the Avengers waited for something to happen, and Hamish had only come out of the laboratory to eat, sleep or use the bathroom. Mary-Kate had, at first, tried to coax him out to interact, but she gave up and just brought movies for the rest of the Avengers every night. Well, the rest of the Avengers except Clint, Natasha and Thor. Thor had returned to Asgard the other day and Clint was stuck tailing this agent and bimbo (with Nat as backup).

Clint rubbed his eyes sleepily as he crouched down on the roof of the home adjacent to Lysander's house. Agent Carson would be reporting back to SHIELD and then returning to his home for a break tomorrow, and Clint knew that that would be when the murderer would strike. He/she wouldn't want to hesitate.

Wait, what was that?

Clint watched the window of Lysander's house carefully. There was Lysander, and he was arguing with someone. Someone that was not in Clint's sight- not standing in front of the window. Lysander was getting more and more agitated. A swirl of blonde hair came into view- the woman (or man with really long hair) was turning around quickly then. Leaving, maybe?

"Tasha, where are you currently?" Clint murmured into his comm.

"In the street under you. Why?" Natasha Romanova's voice said, only hints of static interfering.

"A blonde person shorter than Lysander is leaving Lysander's place. Follow her." Clint said in monotone.

"On it," Natasha replied in a similarly emotionless voice.

Clint focused on Agent Carson, who was currently comm.-ing SHIELD, letting them know that nothing was going on and he'd be reporting in shortly. It was currently 10:43 PM, so Clint estimated the agent wouldn't get home until approximately 2 AM, since getting to SHIELD's NY base would take about a half hour and then the agent would have to be debriefed (Clint had always thought that was a weird word) and begin filing a report. He carefully climbed off of the house's roof and landed quietly in the street.

Now, decisions, decisions. Go ahead to Agent Carson's place, or follow Agent Carson to SHIELD?

Clint decided to follow Carson to SHIELD and listen/read his report, and then follow the man home and prevent his murder.

* * *

Steve sat on a couch near a large window and stared out at the nighttime New York, his most recent sketch abandoned. New York just wasn't doing it for him anymore as an artistic muse. Not during this time, anyway. The murders kept worming their way back into his mind, even though it had been a week already. The corpse of Victor Hatherly kept staring at him. He shook his head to dispel the image and focused his sky blue eyes on the cars below. _I was ordinary, once_, he thought. _I had a small, quiet life. And then I met Dr. Erskine._

The agents that had died may not have had small, quiet lives, but they had still been lives. Now, the three people were dead. Murdered by so-called friends or coworkers. The captain wondered at how awful that must have felt, that kind of betrayal. He also wondered how Clint would be able to tell if anyone who visited the newest target was the assassin or just a coworker. What if Clint was too late? What if he was taken off guard and murdered, too?

Steve flinched at the sudden gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder and barely restrained himself from leaping out of the chair and attacking the owner of the hand.

"Is something the matter?" A soft, accented voice asked quietly. Mary-Kate. Someone Steve was comfortable with. Well, as comfortable as one could be with a woman you'd only known for a month or two who appeared to be nice, but sometimes seemed a little cold and mysterious on the edges.

"Just...thinking."

"Anything in particular you're thinking about?" Mary-Kate sat down next to him on the couch in a way that indicated open friendship- she didn't have stiff posture like a businesswoman, nor was she clinging to him like some of the tipsy girls Steve encountered on his late night walks. She just sat next to him in a calm, relaxed position, ready to listen to whatever he had to say.

"The murders. Clint. I'm worried about him." Steve said in a controlled tone.

"Well, he'll take care of himself, and Natasha will be there to help him, and I'm sure you've seen them in action more than I. They'll be fine," she reassured, even though it had been her who had been worried first. Her smile hardened. "Even if they get in trouble, you, Bruce, and Anthony are well prepared to raise hell to rescue them." And there it was. The colder side of Mary-Kate that always threw Steve off.

"Yeah," he said, unable to think of anything else to say. "You're right."

"What are you drawing?" Mary-Kate asked suddenly.

"Oh, um, just, uh, New York," Steve stuttered, feeling embarrassed. "It wasn't turning out too well." He looked her over for a moment, turned beet red, and asked, "Can I, uh, draw, erm, you?"

The British woman smiled. "Certainly."

They sat there for a few hours more, Mary-Kate lost in her own thoughts and Steve sketching her face.

* * *

Clint crept into Agent Carson's house stealthily. He was a higher ranking field agent than Carson, and better trained, too, so Carson hadn't realized he was there yet. It was 2:34 AM, and Clint was tired as hell, but he knew he had to creep around here until the murderer showed up. His blue eyes (not Tesseract blue, never again Tesseract blue, but normal, ordinary blue) darted every which way, looking for a sign of an intruder or Carson himself. But no, Carson was going to bed now, so Clint could just ease himself onto this couch here, and-

_No, don't do that, idiot. Leave no trace._

So Clint lightly paced around Carson's entire house, checking and rechecking rooms, and then, around four in the morning, he hid, because Carson would be waking in two hours and if the murderer wanted to show up before then, Clint wanted to surprise him. Or her. He hid in the bathroom supply closet after taking things from the supply closet and stocking the bathroom well up so that Carson would not bother to go into his hiding spot. Although, seeing new things in his bathroom might make him suspicious that someone was in the house.

But no, Clint knew how Carson behaved in the mornings, he had been following him for a week. Carson was too groggy to notice much (unless it was painfully obvious that something was wrong), and Carson wasn't an amazing agent like Clint was, so he'd be oblivious. This proved to be true, because at 6:04 AM, Carson got up, showered (and Clint, in his closet, thank goodness, did not have to watch), ate, and then sat in his living room and watched TV. Some show, NCIS or Criminal Minds or some cop show or whatever. Reruns.

At 7:24, there was a faint knock on Carson's door. Clint quietly crept from the closet and into the hallway as Carson greeted his guest. "Ah, Fritz. How is the weather?" Carson asked with some caution.

"Fine, but I think I'll carry an umbrella just in case," the newcomer, "Fritz," replied. That voice was so familiar...

"Come in, come in. Do you want some coffee?" Carson asked, and Clint heard their footsteps as they came into the living room where Carson had been watching TV. They were both male. So, was the newcomer the rapist-murderer or the other murderer? Or was "Fritz" just a fellow agent that was visiting? Because Clint knew that code, the umbrella code, so Fritz had to be an agent. He thought quickly about any agents named Fritz that he could remember.

"No, thank you, I won't be staying long," and then Clint knew this was the murderer, because he recognized the voice of Fritz Ferguson, and he'd never liked that slimy bastard. Tall, skinny, with cropped grey hair and a grey mustache and twitchy fingers, that was Fritz. He had large feet, too, so he probably killed that Fuller guy, not the Matheson woman.

Clint tiptoed down the hallway and took a quick peek at the living room, where Carson had seated himself. Fritz started walking towards the hall where Clint was, claiming he had to use the restroom, and Clint darted into the nearest hiding space- Carson's bedroom. Fritz did not notice, and walked to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Fritz came out, and Clint noticed the noose he was tucking into his suit jacket. That couldn't bode well for Carson. Luckily for the poor agent, Clint had a plan. Clint waited until Fritz was in the living room before leaving Carson's bedroom and following him. Carson had struck up conversation, so Clint took out his phone and sent a silent text to Tony- he was closing in on the murderer and the other Avengers should get ready. He wondered how Tasha was doing.

Clint took a steadying breath. He noticed that Fritz was tensing slightly. Fritz lunged, and he pulled out the noose and prepared to kill Carson. Clint clenched his fists and ran into the room, tackling Fritz. They tumbled to the ground.

"Carson, get down!" Clint warned, hoping to get the message across that he was trying to help so that way Carson wouldn't put a bullet in him.

"Aghhhh!" Fritz yelled, punching at Clint and trying to find his face. Clint landed a few quick blows to Fritz's stomach and wrapped his arm around Fritz's neck, trying to put him in a headlock. Fritz's arm swung up and suddenly two bony fingers were jabbing at Clint's eyes. Clint resigned himself to his fate and bit down hard on Fritz's fingers, causing him to howl in pain. The two agents wrestled a little more, grunting with the efforts of trying to best the other one. Both would have bruises later.

It finally ended when Clint snapped Fritz's elbow and then knocked the man's head against a coffee table, causing the double-agent to go unconscious. Clint let go of Fritz and sat back, panting.

"What was that all about?" Carson asked in a controlled voice, but Clint could tell he was a little spooked.

"Our buddy Ferguson here was going to murder you and cut off your thumbs," Clint said as an explanation, and then he pulled out his phone and dialed Tony's number.

"Alright, James Bond, what's happening? Oh, and you're on speakerphone." Tony said, barely concealing his worry.

Clint held the phone between his shoulder and the side of his head and made some gestures with his hands to indicate to Carson that he needed rope or zip ties. "I'm fine, Stark, just a couple bruises. I caught the guy. Carson and I are tying him up now. Where's Tasha?"

"Who is the killer?" Hamish interrupted, ignoring his question.

Clint clenched his teeth in irritation but answered. "Agent Fritz Ferguson. He's a slimy bastard, tall, skinny, and he has big feet. Hold on-" Clint took of the unconscious man's shoe. "Yep, it's a size eleven. He's the guy that killed Fuller, right?"

"Yes," Hamish said, and then Tony began to talk again.

"Just the name 'Fritz' gives me the shivers. Natasha is following the blonde woman you sent her to, she reports in every few hours. God, I need sleep. JARVIS, when's the last time I slept? Clint, you need to stop keeping me up, man, Mary-Kate is gonna scold me." Tony talked over his AI, who responded to the question with some number of days. No more than three, Clint thought.

"Alright, well, call Nat, let her know I've got the guy and I'm bringing him to SHIELD headquarters for interrogation." Clint said.

"No, bring her here, I need to see him, I need to question him." Hamish interrupted again, sounding frustrated.

"Yeah, I wanna see the bastard that killed those agents," Tony agreed, and Clint sighed.

"Alright, alright," he agreed, because it's not like if he took the agent to the tower the world would end.

* * *

_I was going to finish the Thumbs arc in this chapter but I really needed to update this story and another story quickly (I don't like making you guys wait) and I still haven't written the chapter for the other story so I'll stop here for today._


	11. The Agents' Lack Of Thumbs, Part Four

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers, Supernatural, BBC's Sherlock, Lucky Charms cereal, Rubix cubes, or any other copyrighted or famous item/brand/etc that may appear in this fic._

* * *

It was a little bit past seven o'clock in the morning. Sherlock walked into Stark's kitchen and opened a cabinet, looking for something to munch on (he hadn't eaten at all yesterday). He luckily found a package of chocolate chip biscuits that John was fond of (though this looked like slightly different brand), opened it, and ate a few. He brought the package with him to the drawing room where Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, and Tony Stark were all watching a cartoon about a cat and mouse on the telly. The title "Tom and Jerry" flashed on the screen, but Sherlock immediately deleted the information. Dull and trivial.

"Hey, shy-guy, you've emerged from the science lair!" Tony said with some wry enthusiasm when he noticed Sherlock standing behind the love seat where he and Bruce were seated.

Bruce snorted. "Like you're one to talk," he muttered, but Tony ignored him and gestured to an empty recliner next to the recliner Steve was sitting on.

"Watch with us!" Stark commanded, and Sherlock gave him a glance full of distaste and began to walk away with the package of biscuits in hand. Watch crap telly with John? Maybe. Watch childish cartoons with a group of superheroes he didn't necessarily enjoy the company of? Hell would freeze over first.

Suddenly, Tony's phone began to ring.

"Sir, incoming call from Clint Barton," JARVIS informed them, and everyone became serious. Sherlock stopped walking away from the Avengers and instead took a seat where Tony had gestured moments before.

"Put him on speakerphone and turn the TV off, would ya, JARV'?" Tony said as Sherlock sat down.

"Yes, sir." The AI got it done in a portion of a second.

Tony waited for the call to connect before speaking. "Alright, James Bond, what's happening? Oh, and you're on speakerphone." He was trying for a light tone, but his worry was clearly visible to Sherlock. Sherlock ignored it. He also ignored the brief flare of pride at actually understanding one of Tony's references (John's Bond marathons came in handy after all).

Clint's response came quickly and was played over JARVIS' speakers instead of Tony's phone. "I'm fine, Stark, just a couple bruises. I caught the guy. Carson and I are tying him up now. Where's Tasha?"

"Who is the killer?" Sherlock interjected before Tony could open his mouth. It was very important to know whom they had caught.

Clint sounded irritated at the fact that no one had answered his question, but he responded to Sherlock's anyway. "Agent Fritz Ferguson. He's a slimy bastard, tall, skinny, and he has big feet. Hold on-" a pause. Everyone held their breath in suspense. What was going on? "Yep, it's a size eleven. He's the guy that killed Fuller, right?"

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed, remembering that Fuller's murderer left a size eleven footprint on the scene.

"Just the name 'Fritz' gives me shivers," Tony said, chattering away. "Natasha is following the blonde woman you sent her to, she reports in every few hours." Sherlock frowned, having been unaware of this fact. What blonde woman? Tony kept talking. "God, I need sleep. JARVIS, when's the last time I slept?"

"Approximately three days ago, sir," the AI informed him, but Tony obviously meant for it to be a rhetorical question, because he talked right over JARVIS.

"Clint, you need to stop keeping me up, man, Mary-Kate is gonna scold me." Tony said. Sherlock had a brief thought that Tony may actually enjoy the scoldings that "Mary-Kate" was prone to giving.

"Alright, well, call Nat, let her know I've got the guy and I'm bringing him into SHIELD headquarters for interrogation." Clint said.

Sherlock was filled with frustration. If SHIELD got their hands on him (and he was right about the agency that Clint was employed by) they were sure to ask all the wrong questions. "No, bring her here," he interjected, referring to Natasha, "I need to see him, I need to question him." The 'him' referred to the agent they had kidnapped.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, I wanna see the bastard that killed those agents."

Clint sighed over the phone. "Alright, alright."

"Avengers, out," Steve said, and the call disconnected.

"I'll get the restraints," Tony said, rising from the couch.

"You have restraints?" Steve asked, confused, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Don't ask. I'm certain that Stark would love to inform you about every kinky detail of his sex life, but we don't have time for that now. If you're really interested, I'm sure JARVIS has it on film somewhere for later viewing. Bruce, will you make the call to Ms. Romanova, or shall I?"

Steve turned an interesting shade of red and Tony grinned at Sherlock as Bruce just put his head in his hands, probably wondering what the hell he did to deserve having to live with these people (never mind the fact that he moved here out of his own volition).

Bruce shrugged. "I guess I'll do it. Hey, by the way, do you have asthma?"

"No," Sherlock frowned, wondering what brought on that question.

"What's wrong with your breathing, then? Are you taking something for that? You can tell me, I'm a doctor." Bruce said with some concern in his voice.

"I was unaware there was anything wrong with my breathing."

"I noticed it a few days ago, but since you won't talk to anyone while you're working, I didn't ask."

Sherlock steepled his fingers, wondering what that could be. His brain automatically shut down most chest pain he'd been having since he fractured his ribs a week or two ago- Ah! That's it! Rib fractures caused breathing problems and pain, so that must be what Bruce noticed. Sherlock just didn't notice because there were more important things to deal with. John would've scolded him for that if he were here (then again, if he were here the problem would've noticed much sooner). "It's the rib fractures," Sherlock said, "they inhibit breathing."

Steve and Bruce stared at him.

"And when were you going to mention this to us?" Bruce asked slowly.

"Why bother?" Sherlock's brow furrowed. "They should be healed in five or six weeks."

"You just got injured two weeks ago? What the- Hamish, you shouldn't be moving around so much. Aren't you in pain?" Bruce stared at him intently and Sherlock began to feel uncomfortable.

"I blocked it. There are more important things to deal with. Speaking of which, here comes Stark now. Stark, shouldn't you be sending a car for Clint to bring the unconscious criminal in?" Sherlock said, diverting the attention to the short man entering the room with various ropes, zip ties, and a couple sets of handcuffs. Steve blushed at the assortment, recalling Sherlock's earlier statement about Tony's sex life.

"You're right. JARVIS, can you ask Mary-Kate to drive over to wherever Clint's at and pick him up? Happy called in sick today and I know Mary-Kate likes driving her Phantom." Tony told the AI, who responded that he would. "Now, Hamish, what's this I overheard about broken ribs?"

Sherlock made a frustrated noise. "_Fractured_ ribs. It's _not_ important right now, can't you see? Your Agent Barton has captured a murderer, and your Agent Romanova still hasn't been alerted to the new circumstances."

"Wrong!" Tony said with a grin as he walked away. "I called her while getting the restraints. She's on her way over. Bruce, Hamish, JARVIS'll give you directions to a sound proof, windowless room suited for interrogations. Steve, you come with me, we'll wait near the elevators for Mary-Kate, Clint, and Natasha. I have a feeling our lady agent will get here first."

* * *

"Miss Morstan, Mr. Stark has requested that you go and pick up Clint Barton and his prisoner. Shall I get the keys for the Rolls Royce Phantom ready, ma'am?" JARVIS' voice came over the speakers, waking Mary-Kate from the half sleep that she had been in on hers and Anthony's bed. She groaned and rolled over, silk dressing gown coming undone slightly.

She blinked awake, slowly getting out of bed. "Might as well, I suppose. Where are they?"

Five minutes later, Mary-Kate was driving to Clint's location, wearing designer jeans and a white, frilly blouse, hair pulled into curly ponytail and makeup simple and nondescript. She also wore a pair of sunglasses just to look cool (she could have fun, too! Pretending to be in a spy movie could be counted as fun), and her high heels were no higher than three inches in case she had to do some running.

She called Clint when she arrived and waited outside. "It's Mary-Kate. I'm here. Bring the murderer on out, I've got the trunk open."

A few moments later, Clint Barton walked outside with a rather large duffel bag he had to carry with both arms and Agent Carson following him. Clint told the agent he'd be in contact with him later, right now they had to interrogate the rogue agent. Clint slung the duffel bag into the trunk and it made a dull "thunk" when it landed. A low groan came from the bag and Mary-Kate shut the trunk lid quickly.

"You look lovely this morning. I hope Tony didn't wake you by having you drive over here." Clint grinned as he climbed into the passenger seat. She smiled back pleasantly as she walked over to her side of the car and got in.

"He did, but I don't mind. I'll punish him for it later." Her smile became mischievous as Clint chuckled. "How are we feeling?"

"I've got a couple bruises, but I'll be alright. The fellow in the back, though, is gonna have a nasty headache and his shooting arm will be out of commission for quite a while." Clint cracked his neck.

"Glad to hear it. God, what is with Americans!" Mary-Kate's smile turned into a scowl as she swerved to avoid a speeding taxi. Clint laughed. Mary-Kate gave him a light slap on the arm and then passed him a beer. "Thought you might want this."

"Mary-Kate Morstan, keeping beers in her car?" Clint 'tsk'ed as he used the bottle opener in the glove compartment. He took a deep swig.

"I do not keep beer in my car, you ungrateful man! I brought that especially for you."

Mary-Kate and Clint continued their banter all the way back to the Tower. It was just harmless fun, really, and it helped lighten the mood, which was very much needed because _they had a murderer unconscious in the trunk of the car,_ and while she had killed people before (the incident with the gun in the safe came to mind), distractions were not good on the road.

They pulled up to the Tower and Mary-Kate opened the doors for Clint since he was tasked with carrying the sort-of body bag. The elevator ride was quiet other than the AC/DC blasting through the elevator speakers. They emerged on one of the higher floors, and Anthony and Steve were waiting for them. He pulled Mary-Kate into a hug and kissed her deeply while Clint passed the bag to Steve, who turned beet red at Mary-Kate and Anthony's snogging.

"Leave them, they'll catch up." Clint said, his voice fading into the background as he and Steve walked away.

* * *

Sherlock and Bruce sat on the floor in the hallway outside of the interrogation room quietly. Bruce seemed to be thinking about Sherlock's rib fractures, and Sherlock himself had found a Rubix cube and had started fiddling with it. He had already solved it seven times now and was desperately hoping that Clint would get here soon with the murderer. Natasha Romanova leaned against a wall near the two, face and manner blank. Bruce was sitting crosslegged and Sherlock had his long legs splayed out in front of him.

The three of them looked up when they heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Steve was carrying a huge bag under his large, muscled arm and Clint strode confidently behind him. Natasha went to him immediately and looked him over. Steve took the bag (obviously containing Fritz) into the interrogation room and Sherlock heard him unzip it. Sherlock tuned out the sounds of Fritz being restrained and instead interrupted Clint and Natasha's silent body language conversation.

"Where is Stark?" He asked.

Clint grinned. "Probably having sex right now. He and Mary-Kate were getting pretty heated in there."

Sherlock knew enough about The Woman to know that neither of them wouldn't be joining the rest of the Avengers (plus himself) for a while, so he left well enough alone and moved on.

Bruce and Steve went into the observing room next to the interrogation room, and Clint, Natasha, and Sherlock went into the interrogation room itself. Fritz was conscious now, pale and sweaty, with a broken elbow and a bleeding head. Fritz Ferguson had cropped grey hair, a grey moustache, a tall, lean figure, and bright blue eyes that glared at the woman and two men. He had high set cheekbones not unlike Sherlock's own, though Sherlock knew that John would not be pleased at the comparison between himself and a criminal. Fritz appeared to have a slight concussion, which would make this easier, since his tongue would be looser and he might slip up.

Why did John keep coming up in his thoughts? Irritating. Sherlock focused on the interrogation.

Clint shook his head with a scowl. "Damn, Fritz, I always knew there was something off about you. Why'd you have to be a double-agent, though? That's low, even for you."

Fritz Ferguson clenched his teeth and said nothing.

"Agent Ferguson," Sherlock said, placing both hands on the table and leaning forward. "Your being here is merely a polite observation of tradition, and we could easily be disposed of you any time we like, so I suggest you start talking."

A flicker of fear showed on the agent's face, but again, he was silent.

Sherlock tilted his head. "No? Well, how about we start with what we already know. Your name is Fritz Ferguson. You are married and have two cats, and you're cheating on your wife. She doesn't know yet, though. You ate a powdered donut or two for breakfast and you're a smoker. You and two other agents have killed three agents that were investigating the double dealings of Colonel Mike Lysander and sent their thumbs, which you cut off, to SHIELD, with the purpose of framing Mike Lysander for the crime." This last bit was a bluff, but Ferguson didn't have to know that.

Ferguson laughed at the last bit and spoke. Sherlock cheered inwardly, the agent took the bait. "Ha! You assume too much, lobsterback. Elise would never frame Lysander for anything!"

Sherlock leaned back, comprehension dawning on his face. "So that's your employer- Elise. Agent Romanova, you'd better go track down that mystery blonde you were watching- Lysander's sister is the one in charge here." Sherlock gave Ferguson, who was slowly realizing what he had just done, a smug smile. "Thank you for your cooperation."

With that, he left the interrogation room.

* * *

Steve and Bruce quickly left the observation room and hurried after Hamish, Clint and Natasha. Steve voiced what the majority of them were thinking first. "How do you know that this 'Elise' person is Lysander's sister? Does Lysander even have a sister?"

Natasha answered Steve's last question. "Lysander has an estranged sister. I mentioned her very briefly when describing Lysander last week- She went overlooked because she's not exactly the sanest woman The public isn't really aware of her existence."

"Agent Ferguson called her 'Elise', not 'Ms. Elise' or even 'Ms. whatever her last name is'. This implies that he's close with the woman- She's probably the one he's cheating on his wife with. Also, he said 'Elise would never frame Lysander for anything'- Elise likes Lysander, loves him, maybe, and thinks that she has his best interests at heart. Lysander's wife, if you had bothered to do a little internet searches a few days ago like I did, is named Felicia, so she's not his wife. Then comes the matter of the blonde woman Agent Barton had Agent Romanova follow. What blonde would Lysander be in contact with? His wife is a brunet, and he was arguing with this woman, so it has to be the estranged sister." Hamish explained.

Natasha nodded and the others thought it over.

Clint frowned. "If she's trying to _help_ Lysander, why give the entire thing away by sending SHIELD the thumbs? It just makes it obvious that it's a warning not to investigate further, which suggests something is going on, which makes us investigate further."

"That must be where the 'not quite sane' plays in," Bruce suggested, and Clint nodded. They all followed Hamish to the living room, except they didn't, because the door wouldn't open.

"JARVIS?" Steve asked uneasily. Natasha and Clint tensed up, both reaching for their weapons. Was an enemy in the building? Why couldn't they go in the living room?

"Mr. Stark has requested that none enter this room for a while." The AI told them. Clint and Natasha relaxed, Bruce facepalmed, Hamish rolled his eyes, and Steve flushed.

"Oh." Steve glanced at the rest of the team, wondering what to do. The poor Captain was befuddled. "Er- Okay."

Hamish assumed command for some reason. "Agent Romanova, go after Elise. We need to bring her in. Agent Barton, go as back up, see if you can spot the other two double agents. Dr. Banner, are you any good at computer hacking?"

"No," Bruce confessed.

"No matter. JARVIS is good enough and you have the clearance to tell him what we need. Rogers, stand guard here. Wait for Stark and Mary-Kate to wake up, then inform them of what's going on. Keep your communication devices on you in case you're needed. Banner, with me." Natasha and Clint nodded at their orders and briskly strode away. Steve stood by the door to the living room obediently, and Bruce followed Hamish into the elevator so they could go up to the labs. Hamish was most comfortable there.

Bruce waited until the elevator doors were closed to speak. "So, how'd you know about the other stuff?"

"Hmm?"

"You know, the powdered donuts, the two cats, the cheating on his wife, the smoking." Bruce prompted.

"Oh, that? Simple really, I'm sure Agents Romanova and Barton could tell you why."

"They're not here right now, are they?" Bruce observed with patience.

Hamish rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine, have it your way. There were animal hairs clinging to his trouser legs at a level low enough to be a kitten, small cat, or very small dog, and the multiple fur colors suggests multiple animals. There were also puncture holes in his trouser legs where claws had gotten stuck, so cat it is. Two cats."

"Impressive," Bruce said truthfully, and Hamish gave him a surprised look before continuing.

"He had flecks of powdered sugar on his suit jacket, and it's morning so something powdered for breakfast, most likely a pastry of some kind. A donut is the most likely choice here in America. As for the cheating on his wife, he seemed rather muscular for a skinny man, and his belt had new notches in it. Putting on muscle, then, but his wedding band was dirty, alluding to his opinions of his wife, and if the ring shifted you could see the tan lines, which means he's been married for a long time. Why start building muscle now, and who for? That was answered by him naming 'Elise'."

"You couldn't have known that his wife didn't know, though," said Bruce thoughtfully.

"Women divorce their husbands when it is discovered that they're cheating." Hamish said with confidence.

"Not all the time," Bruce contradicted. "You just guess!"

Hamish snorted. "I never guess."

"Yeah, you do," Bruce said, and he almost missed the flicker of sadness that flitted across Hamish's face. He didn't have time to think over it, though, because Hamish continued talking.

"I knew he smoked because of the nicotine stains on his fingers." Hamish said. "Any other questions?"

"Just one," Bruce murmured as the elevator doors opened and JARVIS let them in a lab. "What're we doing here again?"

"We're not actually doing anything. I just said those things about hacking because I wanted the rest of the team to think that everybody had a job." Hamish said as he sat down in front of his chilled alien corpse.

Bruce felt a vague sense of disappointment settle in his stomach, but he quashed it down. If Hamish wouldn't give him a job to do, then he'd just pester Hamish about his fractured ribs.

"How'd you hurt your ribs, anyway?" Bruce asked. He pretended not to notice that Hamish tensed up and became wary at the question.

"Oh, you know," a pause, "I fell." His voice was mild and even.

"Uh-huh," Bruce said skeptically. "You fell. Are you taking pain medication?"

"I ran out the day I came to America."

"Well, then, I'll go get some." Bruce got up and went to find the nearest medicine cabinet. He came back a few moments later. "Paracetamol?" He asked, offering the drug to Hamish.

Hamish spared him a glance, then returned to his alien studies. "It is paracetamol, yes."

"That's not what I meant," Bruce muttered, knowing that if Tony was here he'd call Hamish a smart ass. "Take some."

Hamish took it from him and placed it beside him on the table. "I'm on a case right now, and I'm working on the alien, so I'll take it later."

Bruce frowned at him but decided not to argue that point anymore. He did, however want to comment on the fact that Hamish still wore foundation to hide the cuts on his face while he still had Hamish's attention (because that was so rare).

Upon Bruce's inquiry, Hamish merely shifted a little bit. "I've been told that looking as if you've just been slashed at with a knife is not exactly a selling point for new flat mates," he muttered, and Bruce went silent for a moment.

"Somebody slashed at you with a knife?" He asked with a low voice. Sure, Hamish wasn't exactly the friendliest guy, but-

"No, no, not at all." Hamish said. Bruce took a breath and calmed down.

"Want me to take a look at them?" The doctor asked, but Hamish only shook his head, claiming that they'd closed up now, so he was fine. The two sat in silence as they waited for Clint and Natasha to report in. Bruce wondered how things were going.

* * *

Natasha Romanova opened the window to Elise Lysander's house silently. She could hear Elise talking to someone in the living room, probably over the phone, since Elise was replying to someone and there was nobody there answering her. Natasha climbed into the room (a bedroom) quietly, and then began creeping down the hall way, leaving the window open in case she needed it to escape later. She could hear the butt end of Elise's conversation.

"...hasn't reported in yet. He should've called ages ago!" The blonde's voice went up an octave as she spoke. She seemed livid. There was a pause as the person on the other end of the line spoke. Whatever he or she said just upset Elise more. "Don't say that! Fritz is too good for that! No one could've possibly-" She broke off. Natasha could see her now as she peeked in the doorway. Her blonde hair was messed up in a way that suggested that she hadn't woken too long ago, and her grey nightgown supported the suggestion. She must've found time to apply make up, however, because her lips were bright red and she had red eyeshadow to match. There was a hairbrush and a lamp on the oak coffee table next to her maroon sofa, her breakfast cereal (Lucky Charms, Natasha noted with amusement) was only half eaten, and the TV was paused. Elise herself was the epitome of sudden fury; lips drawn into a thin line, skin pale, eyebrows knitted together, and eyes boring into her surroundings with a harsh glare.

Natasha adjusted her gloves as Elise started speaking again. "It's alright. You just stay in position. I think that damn agency has finally gotten the message to leave my beloved brother alone. And then he will be happy with me. He'll smile and be nice and it'll be just like when I was small." Her harsh expression turned wistful and reflective for a moment, a dreamy smile appearing on her face.

If Natasha had not been who she was, she might've felt sorry for the pretty madwoman.

Elise answered the voice on the phone once more. "I've got Clyde with me, I'll be fine."

Natasha ran through a mental list of all agents she could remember that had 'Clyde' in their names. There were several. She waited until Elise had hung up before lunging into the room. Elise saw her and shrieked, grabbing the lamp and swinging it at her. Natasha deflected it and punched Elise in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of the woman and laying her flat on her back. Elise gasped for air before Natasha smacked her in the temple, knocking her unconscious. The redhead picked the blonde up and slung her over her shoulder, grunting slightly at the blonde's weight. She heard the heavy footsteps of a man coming towards the living room- Clyde; maybe he heard his employer's shrieking.

"Hawkeye, I've got Elise, her body-guard is coming after me," she said into her comm. as Clyde Becher burst into the room. She wasn't surprised, Clyde had always been a moody, quiet fellow that was neither overly loyal nor disloyal to SHIELD. She had never pegged him for a rapist, though (because he must've raped Agent Victoria Matheson, he was a thickly built man that could've easily overpowered the woman).

"Get near a window," Clint told her, and she dashed for the bedroom from whence she came. Becher pulled out a gun and shot at her, but he missed, hitting the door frame. Natasha heaved Elise out of the window and then dropped in a crouch to the floor. _Here he comes, _she thought grimly. Clyde had stopped running, instead creeping up. The barrel of his gun edged around the bedroom door. His head came next as he warily looked for her. Upon spotting her near the window without Elise Lysander with her, he charged straight into the room and fired two shots at her. Natasha dodged both and then rolled under the bed as she heard the whistling noise a speeding arrow makes. She waited for a thudding sound that meant that Clint's arrow had found its target before she emerged from her hiding spot.

Sure enough, Clyde had an arrow through his heart.

"Clint," she scolded mildly, "what if Turner had wanted to ask our friend Clyde Becher here some questions?"

"Fuck him." Clint muttered wearily. "I'm coming in to collect Becher. There's a car out front, wait there for me."

"Alright. Elise can go in the backseat and Becher can be put in the trunk."

"Roger that."

Natasha climbed out the window and collected the unconscious form of Elise Lysander off of the grass. She checked her watch- It was getting close to lunch time. Luckily, most of the people in this neighborhood were either at a soup kitchen by now or knew when to mind their own business. When Elise had left her family and brother (or they left her, who knows), she had not ended up in an area of the state of New York that Natasha would've chosen as an ideal place.

She carried Elise as if Elise was drunk out to the car and lay her down gently in the backseat. "We'll get you on over to the doctor's," she murmured in case anyone walking down the street really cared whether or not she was kidnapping Elise. A few minutes later, Clint came out of the house with the same bag he had hidden Ferguson in, except this time it contained a corpse instead of an unconscious man. Clint threw him in the trunk.

"I call shotgun!" Clint called, and Natasha rolled her eyes fondly.

"Who else could call shotgun?" She asked, and he shrugged.

"Well, pretty little crazy maniac isn't gonna do it," he observed as they both got into the car. The drive didn't take long. Natasha put in a CD of Russian ballet music, and Clint groaned.

"Can't we listen to some of Stark's stuff? You know, like, Metallica, or something?" He asked miserably.

"Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole," Natasha responded with a smirk.

"Quoting Dean Winchester? That was low, Tasha." Clint loved Supernatural, he practically worshiped it. Nat had just smothered all his protests with the utterance of that one rule. She merely smiled as he swore at her, driving and listening to her favorite music in the world.

* * *

"Mr. Turner, Dr. Banner, Mr. Stark Agents Barton and Romanova have returned." JARVIS informed the three scientists in the lab (Tony had joined them a few moments ago. His hair was mussed and he had only just pulled his shirt back on to cover his Arc Reactor). Hamish was the first one in the elevator, with Tony and Bruce hot on his heels.

They found Clint and Natasha relaxing on the loveseat in the living room with Steve and Mary-Kate seated in recliners. Hamish spoke immediately. "Well?" He demanded.

"We turned Elise Lysander and the corpse of Clyde Becher over to Agent Bradstreet at SHIELD. We should be receiving the DNA tests on Becher soon so we'll know whether or not he was the one who raped Agent Matherson." Natasha said, voice devoid of emotion.

"Any sign of the female double agent?" Bruce asked.

"Agent Jane Petersen went missing two hours ago," Clint informed them. "SHIELD is tracking her down. We think it's her. She's had contact with both Becher and Ferguson over the past four months. Speaking of which, where is our buddy Fritz?"

"Capsicle here dropped him off at SHIELD right before I woke up, did they withhold that info from ya?" Tony clapped a hand down on Steve's shoulder from where he was standing behind him. Steve jumped a little.

"I guess that's solved, then," Bruce said.

"I guess so." Tony thought for a moment. "Hey, Hamish, have you ever had shwarma?"

* * *

_And that's the end of the Thumbs Arc. I hope you enjoyed it. I tried to make it complex without being too hard to follow, and this is my first time writing a mystery, so I'm not quite good at it yet._

_In Thor's manner of speech, "Review, my lovely followers, if you would! I shall greatly appreciate it if you deem it worthy of your time to critique/rant to/praise/comment on my writing!"_

_Also, what should Tony and Mary-Kate's ship name be? Starkene? Starkate? Iron Whip? Let me know! And Born to Die by Lana Del Rey gives me Mary-Kate x Tony feels._

_On a final note: There is a relatively important poll on my profile as of 8/27/2013. If you could take a look at it, that would be great._


	12. In America They're Called Sweaters

_**I'm sure everyone knows this by now but if you don't I'm just mentioning that in this universe Iron Man 3 never happened (ooh possible plot device for later hmm...) (unless the majority of you did not like the movie in which case I will not mention that guy who turns red and is on fire on the inside whose name I can never remember)**_

**_Also, the line breaks don't seem to be working sometimes so I apologize if they don't and this chapter becomes really weird. I'll try and fix it if that happens._**

* * *

Sherlock didn't like shwarma.

Luckily for him, the Avengers all forgot about their eavesdropping on his phone conversation with his brother, so that was never brought up.

* * *

A week after his pesky little brother solved the triple murder in America, Mycroft received a text from him.

_How are Lestrade, John, and Mrs. Hudson?_

Well, John and Lestrade were both blaming themselves for Sherlock's "suicide", and Mrs. Hudson was incredibly distraught. He couldn't just write that, though. Sherlock needed to stay put in America so Mycroft could hunt down and eliminate all of Moriarty's network.

Mycroft sent: _Grieving, of course, Sherlock. John still has not moved back to Baker Street. He left one of his jumpers there on accident, I could send it to you._

Sherlock's reply was: _Of course they're grieving, it's only been, what, three weeks? Four? Also, I'm going by Hamish Turner at the moment, so please remember that._

Sent: _I will. How are the ribs?_

Received: _They'll be healed by next week, I'm sure._

Sent: _Try not to do anything foolish that may injure them again, please._

Received: _Me? Never._

Mycroft sighed. At least Sherlock was underestimating human emotions again. He had only just begun unraveling the criminal web in Britain, and his agents in France and America hadn't even started yet. Sherlock may be able to help, but he was too recognizable, even in some of his disguises. This was for the best.

He decided to send Sherlock the jumper. It would placate Sherlock enough that maybe he'd stay in Tony Stark's tower for a few more months without bothering Mycroft.

Mycroft just hoped that when Tony Stark and his pals figured out that his guest was actually Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft wouldn't have to resort to bribes to keep Sherlock hidden.

* * *

"Sir, Mr. Hogan is on the line." JARVIS announced. Bruce jumped a little at the sudden noise, but Tony and Hamish continued their working, Hamish on his...whatever that was, and Tony on his new robot he'd gift Mary-Kate.

"I'm busy, JARVIS." Tony said as he grabbed a screwdriver.

"He says it's important, sir."

Tony sighed. "Fine. Put him through."

"I got this package," Happy began saying immediately over the speakers.

"Hold that thought, Happy, lemme put my tools up." Tony told him. He didn't want any possible classified news being broadcasted to his ginger guest. He didn't trust Hamish enough to do that.

"It's addressed to Hamish Turner." Happy said, ignoring Tony. Hamish looked up sharply.

"Has he x-rayed it yet?" Hamish asked.

Tony blinked in surprise. I mean, of course Happy would x-ray it (security was taken very seriously by the man), but it was odd that Hamish would think so.

"Yes," Happy replied, since they were on speakerphone and he heard Hamish's question. "It wasn't anything threatening, just some sweater."

"A sweater?" Hamish asked with surprise and suspicion. "Who is it from?"

"There's no return address."

Hamish leaned back in his chair. "Ah," he said, "annoying."

"What?" Bruce asked, sounding confused.

"Send it up, will you?" Hamish said before returning to his microscope. Tony and Bruce shared a look, and then Tony authorized the request. Happy responded with a "yes, sir" and hung up.

Tony and Bruce refrained from asking any questions about the mysterious sweater until after Happy brought the package up and placed the box in a clear space on Hamish's desk. Hamish barely spared it a passing glance. Bruce thanked Happy as Tony walked over and picked the box up.

"So, what's with the clothing? Who sent this?" Tony asked as he stabbed the top of the box with a pair of scissors. Hamish rose from his chair and took the scissors from Tony's hands (Tony let him take them, no harm in it) and cut open the box himself.

"My brother," Hamish said absentmindedly as he lifted a beige, knitted sweater out of the box.

"That looks like something a grandma would wear." Tony said with a snort.

If looks could kill, Hamish's glare right then would've caused Tony to die a thousand horrible deaths. Luckily for the billionaire, the only thing it did was make him curious about what the sweater meant to Hamish. It was just a plain thing, a little worn at the edges, and it looked to small to fit the chemist, so it probably wasn't a present, unless Hamish's brother just picked random measurements when he bought the thing, which may not be unlikely if Hamish and his brother were not on the best of terms.

"Why did your brother send you this sweater? It looks too small for you," Bruce said, echoing Tony's thoughts.

"Because he's an idiot." Hamish said snappishly. He strode away, taking the sweater and leaving the box. Tony and Bruce shared another look.

About ten minutes after Hamish's departure, Tony said, "JARVIS, what's Hamish doing?"

"He is sitting in his room, sir."

"That's all?" Bruce asked in surprise.

JARVIS paused. "He seems to be rather upset."

Bruce looked at Tony with confusion. "I programmed JARVIS really well, he recognizes some human emotions." Tony explained.

"Why do you think he's upset, JARVIS?" Bruce asked hesitantly.

"He has his face pressed into the sweater and has not moved for several minutes, Dr. Banner." JARVIS reported.

"Maybe the sweater belonged to someone important?" Bruce said dubiously.

"I dunno, Brucy Bear, but I think our little Englishman is a lot more homesick than he lets on." Tony said with a frown. Hamish acted cool and aloof and seemed to only contain the emotion of contempt, but maybe something happened that made him this way. After all, Mary-Kate had said he had left England because of some problems.

"Why do you think he left England?" Bruce asked, once more echoing Tony's thoughts. It was almost surprising how often they were on the same wavelength. "Maybe somebody he cared about died and he didn't like being reminded of them constantly."

"Maybe," Tony said, "or maybe they broke up with him. Or maybe it wasn't love at all- Maybe it's financial troubles, or problems with the law. God, I hope it's not the law. I don't want to be harboring a fugitive."

"Well, it's probably not anything illegal. Natasha did a background check, remember?" Bruce said.

"Yeah," Tony said. "Maybe I should do one, too, though, just to be sure."

JARVIS interrupted before Tony could do so. "Sir, Ms. Potts has arrived."

"What?" Tony blinked, taken aback.

"Two days ago Ms. Potts called you and you let her know that she could come pick up her items she forgot when she left you whenever she felt like coming. She has arrived and is currently in an elevator right now." JARVIS explained. Tony swore. He had forgotten all about that.

Tony and Pepper broke up shortly after the events in New York. Pepper told him that she just couldn't handle his habit of risking his life anymore. She said that she wasn't attracted to him as much, and she couldn't take the anxiety and jumble of emotions a relationship with him entailed. She was no longer his CEO, but she kept a high-ranking position in his company, since she's a hardworking, intelligent businesswoman that has done wonders for Stark Industries. She moved out of his mansion and now lived in Iowa with her newest boyfriend, some guy that Tony never bothered to look up because of the temptation to hack everything that relates to him and ruin his life. She had taken almost everything of hers from his mansion and Stark Tower, but she had forgotten a few things that she needed to collect, and now she was here, in New York, in his freaking _Tower_, and Tony had no idea what to do.

* * *

**_Sherlock and Mary-Kate meet Pepper in the next chapter, and tension may or may not be high. What do you think will happen? Leave a review and tell me, yeah? :)_**

**_P.S. Should I change the title of this fic? I am not quite fond of it, but if you guys like it, I'll leave it alone. If you agree with me and think I should change it, suggest what I should change it to, or I'm probably going to pick some song lyric that no one will recognize. xD_**


	13. Icebreakers

**_A lot of thanks to Bookworm Gal, who has helped me a lot with her input about how the story should continue. I really appreciate it!_**

**_I'm still considering changing the title, but I'll leave it for now. I don't have any problems with it, really, and I can't be bothered with the effort of thinking up a new one at the moment._**

* * *

Mary-Kate lay elegantly on the couch talking about guns to Natasha when Virginia "Pepper" Potts stepped out of the elevator.

Pepper stood tall in back high heels, a silver wristwatch, and a black garden party dress with pink and blue flowers printed on it. She clutched a large, black bag to her chest in a subconscious defensive position. Her bright eyes flickered over the scene, watching the woman who deceived the company a few years ago converse with a woman unknown to her.

Mary-Kate rose from her place on the couch, cutting off her conversation with Natasha, who took the interruption well. Mary-Kate stood straight, but not tall, since without any shoes on she was only 5'3". She was still just as beautiful as the other woman, maybe even more beautiful in some eyes. Her locks were curled and loose, she wore just a hint of dark eyeshadow and lipstick, and her sleeveless dress was of the finest grey patterned material one could buy.

Natasha watched the two women with slight interest, knowing that Potts would have to break eye contact before Morstan.

The tense silence was broken when none other than Hamish himself plodded in. He gave the scene a glance before saying, "Stark is in his lab, Miss Potts. Staring down his girlfriend in hopes that she'll take you to him will do you no good."

Pepper blinked in surprise. "'Girlfriend'? Who are you two?"

"Hamish Turner." Hamish said as he grabbed a little glass object and tossed it in the air, catching it deftly, looking bored. "This is Mary-Kate Morstan. I'm a guest here, while Mary-Kate seems to be aiming for something along the lines of a more permanent residency. Seeing as you're Stark's ex and he doesn't seem too happy about you being here, if you go up alone he might just blast his awful music and ignore you. This seems unnecessary since you won't leave until you get your things and I've no desire to move my things from the lab floor he's working on, but I don't want to listen to you bother him. I've got a code, lets get this over with, follow me." He placed the trinket back on a coffee table and began walking briskly away.

Pepper just blinked again, looking at Natasha dubiously. Natasha nodded before asking Mary-Kate a question about the bullets she used in a gun she used to own, effectively dismissing Pepper. Mary-Kate started to answer as Pepper trotted off after Hamish.

"I suppose you've got questions," Hamish said as he stepped into another elevator and pressed a button.

"Yes," Pepper answered immediately. "Why are you here?"

"I said that already. I'm a guest."

"_Why_ are you a guest?" Pepper pressed determinedly.

Hamish gave her an irritated look. "If you must know, it is because I had some problems in England and Mary-Kate owes me a favour. Next."

Pepper checked her phone before saying anything else. Robert, her boyfriend, had sent her a text. She responded and then spoke. "Why is he unhappy with me being here?" Pepper asked, the "he" being Tony Stark.

"Well, for one, your relationship with your current boyfriend seems to be going quite well, which upsets the man. He cared about you dearly before you left him, that much is obvious. And it was _you_ who left him. He had forgotten you were coming, and wasn't happy about the fact that you'd be meeting his current partner and quite possibly clashing with her. He doesn't know how long you'll be staying, and though he has plenty of rooms, he hates anything awkward and social, and quite frankly, so do I." Hamish stepped out of the elevator as the doors slid open. Pepper followed him as Hamish walked over and typed in a code into the control pad near the clear glass doors. Sure enough, Tony was blasting some AC/DC song again. Bruce, who looked somewhat uncomfortable with the music choice, looked up when the doors slid open.

"JARVIS!" Hamish yelled over the noise. "Shut that blasted thing up!"

The music turned off.

"Hamish, you killed my jam!" Tony said, and Hamish looked pained for a moment before his expression smoothed back to irritation. Tony swiveled in his chair to look at them. "Oh, hey, I see you've met Pepper. This is Vi-"

"Virginia 'Pepper' Potts, yes, I know. Ex-girlfriend, ex-CEO, but she's still working in your company. Lived happily in Iowa until she remembered she'd left some stuff here. Allergic to strawberries, recently went shopping at Forever 21- Sad, considering you're in your thirties." He was now speaking to Pepper, not Tony. "Also, try not to stay with Robert too long, Happy Hogan is getting anxious, and everyone knows you're in love with him anyway." He popped a blueberry in his mouth.

"Happy Hogan?" Bruce Banner asked incredulously as Tony protested, "Hey, don't eat those! How'd you find my secret stash?"

"Elementary." Hamish said, eating another blueberry and holding the bag up out of Tony's reach when Tony tried to reach up and grab them.

Pepper pursed her lips. "Tony, where's my-"

"I gathered all of your things that you left and put them in a box somewhere. JARVIS, where's the box?" Tony asked, cutting her off. He tried again to grab the blueberry bag from Hamish, but Hamish merely held it up higher.

"The cardboard box is currently in Ms. Potts' old room, sir." JARVIS informed them politely.

"Right. Hamish, you're big, you go get it."

"What?" Hamish said, startled into lowering the bag slightly. Tony jumped up a little and snatched it from Hamish's loose fingers and grinned when the British man looked astonished.

"You," Tony said, popping a blueberry into his mouth, "ate some of my secret stash, so as your punishment you have to carry Pepper's box. Plus, Capsicle is out for a jog, Clint is god knows where, and there's no way in hell I'm asking Natasha to carry something. The task falls to you now. Go and make me proud." Tony sat in his chair and spun around in it while Bruce just shook his head and Pepper looked annoyed.

Hamish looked irritated before turning on his heel and walking out of the lab. Pepper had no choice but to follow him again and hope he carried the box for her (Tony made it sound like it was a big box).

Hamish pulled his phone from his blue jeans pocket and started texting someone. Pepper resisted the urge to peek and see what he was typing. He seemed to know where he was going, not even bothering to look up when he walked, just turning whenever. He was going straight to her old room.

"How the hell did you know that stuff?" Pepper asked, still angry about his blunt ways of speaking and revealing her secret crush on the security guard.

"Simple. You dress has a tag on the back of the neck, Forever 21. It's a new dress- You shift around a bit in it as if it's itchy, you really should wash your new clothing before you wear it. Your relationship status with Tony Stark was simple, I knew you were his ex from the way he never mentions you, though there were rumors in the papers about you two for ages before the events in New York. You still work for the company, but you're not CEO anymore- also in the papers. Happy Hogan's relationship to you was also easy. The man carries a picture of you in his wallet. 'How do you know that?' you ask. I stole his wallet yesterday to go out and buy nicotine patches. Don't worry, I put it back in his pocket four hours ago. JARVIS only announced your presence after you were already in an elevator. You couldn't have gotten in an elevator unless JARVIS, Tony, or Happy Hogan let you in, and it certainly wasn't Tony." Hamish hadn't looked up from his phone the entire time, but he did once they reached the door.

"And my allergies? My boyfriend's name? How did you know that?" Pepper asked after wrapping her mind around the large speech Hamish had given.

"You were texting him in the elevator on the way to the lab reminding him not to put strawberries on your birthday cake since he usually forgets you're allergic." Hamish said, and Pepper wanted to slap him. He read her texts over her shoulder earlier while she had the courtesy not to peek at his phone.

Hamish looked at her closely. "Ah, you're angry because I read your texts. Sorry." He didn't sound sincere. "Want to know who I was texting? Yes, you do, but you don't know that you do- This will answer your next question. I knew how to get to your old room," he opened the door, "because I was texting JARVIS. It gave me directions. Now, find your box."

Pepper swallowed her irritation (a skill she had perfected while working under Tony Stark) and strode through the nearly empty room. It wasn't like the box needed to be found- There was only one, and it was placed in the center of the neatly made bed. The room had plain furniture in it, just the bare necessities. Pepper had taken most things with her, and apparently Tony went through and packaged up the rest of it after she had gone. There was a sad, hollow kind of emptiness in here, and it gave the redhead the shivers. She snapped her fingers to get Hamish's attention and gestured to the box. He looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but instead he just heaved it up off the bed and began walking away with it in both arms. Pepper spared her old room one last look before shutting the door behind her.

They got in another elevator. Hamish seemed a bit confused by the first floor elevator buttons. It was probably a British thing. The ride down began with Metallica until Hamish placed the box on the floor, pulled his phone out, and fired another quick text to JARVIS. Then it was silent. Pepper took advantage of the quiet to speak again.

"Why did you dye your hair orange?" She asked curiously. Hamish gave her a sharp look. "Come now, you're not the only observant one here. I know hair dye when I see it, and your eyebrows are dark. Darker hair seems like it would fit you better."

Hamish looked at the wall. "It was necessary."

She tried to be friendly. He_ had _informed her that Happy Hogan returned her feelings, after all. "Got anyone who might be upset about your new hair?"

There was a pause, and then Hamish actually _chuckled_. "I hadn't thought of that. Yes, I imagine he might be upset."

The elevator doors opened and Hamish picked up her box. He strode out ahead of her. Happy was waiting by a black limo. "Ma'am," he said politely, opening the side door for her. She slid in, sending a grateful glance to Hamish when he popped the trunk and put the box in.

"Happy, can you do me a favor?" Hamish asked after slamming the trunk lid shut.

"Depends."

"I need you to drive me to a convenience store after we drop Miss Potts off at the airport." Hamish opened the side door on the opposite side of Pepper's door and sat down next to her.

"Alright," said Happy after he had sat down behind the wheel, and he started driving.

They were stuck in traffic with a light about to turn green up ahead when the car froze in place.

Literally. Ice had formed in the wheels and several window panes frosted over.

The door was forced open and Pepper screamed as a white and blue gloved hand grabbed her hair and started pulling her out of the car.

* * *

"Sir, there's a call for you from Mr. Rogers."

"Mr. Rogers." Tony repeated with a chuckle. "Put him through."

"Tony," Steve Rogers said urgently when the call went through.

"Wassup, Capsicle?" Tony asked, spinning around his lab chair.

"There's an ice-controlling maniac in Time Square requesting to meet with you." Steve sounded pretty stressed out.

"Can't you handle it?" Tony whined. "I'm almost done with-"

"He's got Pepper, Hamish, and Happy Hogan."

Tony jumped out of his chair, voice deadly. "I'm on my way."


End file.
